


The Ties that Bind Us

by ASOUEfan



Series: A Saga of Solace and Sacrifice [1]
Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: (the Apocalypse!), Aftercare, Angst and Tragedy, BDSM, Caning, Collars, Consensual, Dom!Venable Sub!Reader, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, F/F, Gags, Non-Graphic Violence, Orgasm Denial, Plans For The Future, Pre-Outpost Venable, Rope Bondage, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22171387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Prequel fic to "Say it Again" (This is a different Reader, so a different female character.)  Can be read as a stand alone.Before the Apocalypse, Miss Venable gives everything to her job at Kineros Robotics. But unbeknownst to her employers, she does have a hobby, or at least, has found what makes her happy. Whatever idiotic orders come from her bosses, or assistant she is forced to hire, she can at least come home to you.So when she is told by Jeff and Mutt about the upcoming Apocalypse, she has to persuade them you're one of 'the right people' to save, and together you can prepare for the end of the world, preserve your way of life together and act as the perfect example to her future flock.
Relationships: Wilhemina Venable/Original Female Character(s), Wilhemina Venable/You, wilhemina venable/reader
Series: A Saga of Solace and Sacrifice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614769
Comments: 62
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is set immediately after the "Make your own arrangements, I'm done here." scene, when Miss Venable quits her job at Kineros.

Wilhemina Venable pressed her foot on the accelerator, her grip tightening on the padded leather steering wheel as she felt the engines power beneath her. She sped away from Kineros Robotics and everything she had spent her career working to build. But today was the last straw. They treated her like a glorified secretary, booking escorts and arranging deliveries of cocaine like children who needed a grown up to buy them sweets. They had no idea how much she did for them, how much she had given them, and the most painful part of all was that without Kineros, who was she anyway?

She drove home ignoring the speed limit for each and every restricted speed zone, not giving a shit for the repercussions. As she swiped her keycard and descended into the underground parking lot, her fingers were already tingling with need. She had to get this out of her, this resentment, this _discontentment_ that bubbled along under the surface until something disrupted the balance she so carefully maintained. Wilhemina hooked her pale lilac handbag over her free arm, collected her cane from next to her where in the lay in the passenger footwell to swing her legs out of the car, carefully pressing to her feet. She beeped the car closed and walked toward the elevator, maintaining a careful pace with her cane. When adrenaline coursed through her like this - whatever the origin, it was easy to get sloppy, over-step or stride too fast and falter, only to be reminded of her limitations. And that only aggravated her more.

Wilhemina gathered herself, taking a long breath in through the nose checking herself in the wall-mirrors, her hand tightening atop her cane. Its rounded silver end fitted perfectly in the centre of her palm and she enjoyed how it rubbed fingerless gloves until the leather was perfectly smooth, almost indented with where the cane should be. It had found a home in her palm, as she had found a home with you.

The elevator rose to the floor below the Penthouse - always an irritation of hers that she wasn’t yet on the uppermost floor of the building, and Wilhemina unlocked the apartment door, tossing her bag angrily at the coat rack.

“You had better be awake,” She barks in warning through the apartment, her black calf length boots marking the wood flooring as she strode, but for once she didn't think about such details. She needed release, and fortunately you were waiting for her. She didn't have to blindly search a club for someone at short notice; you had been dating for nearly two years and your kinks matched perfectly, plus you were patient when she got a little over excited, which she had to say she was grateful for.

You are awake, of course. You’d been watching the clock since 4pm, time moving hideously slowly sitting inside your crate. It was a proper metal barred dog crate she had bought from a pet-store, its XL size was plentiful for a dog no doubt. But for you there was little room to move - which was the point. Your jaw ached from the gag though you knew she’d likely take it out once she got home, she usually did. The collar you were used to, but the ball gag was a new addition to Miss Venable’s repertoire.

She desired control in all things, and it was a muscle she could comfortably flex with you, for you were the same - but _opposite_. Requiring order, and organisation, being her girlfriend, _her pet_ , you knew where you were meant to be, how you were meant to behave, and it was releasing. You gave up control but gained a freedom from everything else. Miss Venable worried about the important things, all you needed to do was what you were told.

By the tone of her voice as she shouts through the apartment, you knew it wouldn’t be sweet kisses tonight. You kneel up onto all fours as she comes through the kitchen-living space toward your crate, sliding open the metal door fastenings to let you out and you can tell just by her body language she's pissed. The stiffness to her gait, the balling of her fist, even how heavily she smacked the floor with each step of her cane - and you can’t help but cower a touch as she reaches in grabbing you by the hair and hauling you out onto the floor.

You whine wetly over the ball gag, unable to speak, or ask her whats wrong. She throws you forwards, growling -“Get to the bedroom.”

You scramble to your hands and knees and crawl hastily to her bedroom, your bare knees rubbing the wood. You sound a bit like a baby deer scampering clumsily across the floor because people couldn't move that well on just hands and knees, humans weren't designed for it anymore. But the difficulty of it was probably why you enjoyed it, and hearing her clacking footsteps following straight after you you feel your heartbeat rise in twisted excitement.

But it wasn’t just your submission Miss Venable wanted, watching you crawl awkwardly in such a way. She knew how it made your back ache, being on hands and knees for extended periods of time; how your knees swelled sometimes from the pressure on the joints, how you had to crane your neck to look up. Nothing was easy - movement, sitting still; everything became uncomfortable and sore. That was how she lived _every goddamn day_ , and though she would never wish her back on anyone, there was perverted sort of justice in making you struggle too.

You never knew which side of her Miss Venable were going to get, but you loved all of her. There were quiet moments when she would talk of her childhood, open up about children home’s and foster families that took no interest in the disabled kid, except the pay checks she brought. Sometimes she wouldplay with your hair and bathe you, almost maternally so, needing to live these experiences she’d never had. Or sometimes, she would pat the sofa next to her, letting you curl up in her arms. Your love for her was renewed in these moments, and the bond strengthened between you.

There were other times she was firm, and tied you in efficient knots then made you wait for hours. Ever authoritative, she would snap her fingers at you taking out whatever frustrations she had by doubling your housework and giving you little reward. Sometimes she took you out, because fucking wasn’t often her thing. So you would continue your roles, Miss Venable enjoying watching others play with your pleasure, following her instructions from where she sat at the side of the bed.

Then there was times like now, where something had happened and you couldn't stop to ask what, when she needed you not for pleasure but for her own _release_. As soon as you were in the bedroom you shed the pyjama shorts and tank top, unclipping your bra and shoving them quickly under the bed as you knelt in your usual spot, reaching your hands up around one of the bedposts of the tall four poster bed. You could hear her footsteps approaching closer, and you did everything you could to be good. Knees and thighs exactly an inch apart, shoulders down, not tensed. Head turned away, eyes trained low. You heard the drawers open, and you feel yourself starting to throb. You know the scrape of the drawer and what she's got in there.

Wilhemina knits her brow and concentrates, she needs to get this right. Theres an urge that needs to be dealt with, a venom that can only be bled from her like this. The blue velvet lining of the drawer holds several indentations, all equal in length and width, each cane its own masterpiece. She already knows which one she wants though, and plucks it between her fingers then shuts the drawer neatly.

You draw still, her foot and cane-steps nearing, then stopping next to you. If you glance your eyes a little to the right you can see the tip of her leather shoe right next to your thigh, and you have clench your pelvic muscles so hard because you’re already wet for her and she won’t like it.

She doesn’t stop to bother cuffing your wrists together around the bedpost. You hear the whoosh of the cane, her motion so quick it cuts through the air splitting particles before it lands on your back and you squawk against the mouth gag. “Quiet.” She hits you again, not in any particular direction or at any particular body part, she just wants to feel better. Jeff and Mutt had humiliated her for the last time, reduced her worth to nothing - but to you, she was _everything_. She was your world and she needed to feel that, and rebuild her self confidence.

You growl quietly each time she hits you, you can tell which cane she picked by how the indentations prick your back. Its the rosewood cane, smooth and warm in colour but with carved protrusions that jut out of it along its length, some round some angled but each would centre the pressure and dig right into your skin. It would mark you in deep pock mark bruises instead of lines and _goddamn it hurt,_ you could never take many of these before it really hurt. Your arousal peaks in panted breaths between her strikes.

Miss Venable didn't let up her pace, caning and hitting you and baring her teeth as she swung at you, panting through her own building desire. She tossed the whip aside in a sudden shift, and took a hold of the bedpost instead sliding her grip down her own cane she walked with, and swung _that,_ at which point you turned looking up at her in panic shaking your head, folding your arms in front of your head to protect yourself. She waved it and smacked it down, beating you with it. You tried to talk but it was just garbled noise, your tongue slicking around the gag stifling anything you wanted to say, to _beg_. You had a safe word and signal of course, it was your choice not to use it. You trusted her, even when she was like this.

Your eyes filled with pained tears when she didn't yet stop, you could feel the bruises on your arms the swelling of tissues and the threat to the bone themselves. Through your bleary vision you could see she was crying too, her perfect make-up smearing around her eyes until she couldn't take it anymore, _the feelings,_ and she threw her cane across the room screaming a roar. “Fuuuuck! Fuck - !”

You slowly lower your arms, watching her flop on to the end of the bed, covering her face in her hands. _What the hell has happened?_ Gently, you touch your hand to her knee. She jerks at the sensation, then coming to, slowly peers through her fingers at you.Your eyes question her with words still stifled in your mouth. Miss Venable takes her glasses off and carefully rubs her fingertips under her eyes as she blows out shaky breaths. “I’m okay, everything’s alright …,” She says softly, patting the top of your hand trying to force a smile for your sake. “Oh, of course.” Miss Venable replaces her glasses and reaches around your head unbuckling the gag, letting it fall to the floor. She had barely realised it was still in, and as your jaw is finally freed and allowed to close, you wipe the spittle away on the end of the bedsheets. No-one ever told you how much your mouth watered.

“Miss Venable?” You croak, then clear your throat and try again. “Miss Venable … if I’ve done something, or not done something - “ Apologies pour out your mouth, although your fault is unknown to you, there must be something. She didn’t often get so, _angry._

Wilhemina dropped her shoulders, shaking her head. “Oh, oh no. Sweetheart its not you,” She murmured, cupping your cheek. You turn your head and kiss her fingers, nuzzling for her touch. The way she gave you a gentle caress after her heavy blows was healing, and whether she really meant to or not, it made your core tighten. Your nipples peak and _ache_ for her. You couldn't say anything of course, but your body was in bits, there were bruises on top of old bruises and you swear your forearm could be fractured, using her cane like that.

Straddling your hips over her leg you could grind the aches away, if she would let you.

But the way she’d lost control scared her more than it did you, and you knew she wouldn’t be in the right headspace to allow you such freedoms.

“Then…?” You try to ask, without pushing. You ignore your arousal, leaving it to throb silently between your legs hoping it will go away by itself.

She sucked on her bottom lip, then faced herself and her decision. “I quit my job today.” Miss Venable glanced at you, as if wanting to know your reaction, though playing your roles like this she knew you wouldn't say. Your job was to ease her through the tumultuous transition by giving her what she needed. It wasn’t always borne of desire, when she slapped you, or tied your legs wide and tortured you refusing to let you orgasm. It was pleasurable of course, _for both of you_ , but the rush it gave her was that little boost of self esteem she couldn't get any other way.

Miss Venable huffed to herself, reaching instructively with her fingers - you followed where she was pointing and nodded, crawling across the room to fetch her cane for her. You bend down and bite your teeth around it, holding it in your mouth as you crawl back over, kneeling up giving it into her hands. Wilhemina scratched you behind the ear idly, the ramifications of her decision laying bare. She needed Kineros, as much as the company needed her. But there was nothing to gain from turning around and doubting herself. She was done.

Pressing onto her cane, she stood, her resolve returning. “Let those fuckers see how long they last without me to clean up their mess and organise their cocaine habit. They’ll be spiralling within days.” She smoothed a hand slowly over each side of her hair as she grew tall, tidying any strands that had loosened from the exertion, and strode more confidently from her bedroom, cane in hand.

You don't move, simply watch and wait knowing if she wants you, then the instruction will come. If not, you had a mat in each room and were well trained enough to know to stay put.

She paused in her bedroom doorway, your obedience threatening to make her smile, though she kept her features hidden from you. She merely glanced back through her glasses, then patted her thigh with one hand, beckoning you there.

You breathe out in relief, and hurry to her side. You’re glad for the reassurance, and being at her side relaxes you. The tension in your gut starts to ease, and as your shoulder brushes against her calf, her slower pace suiting you being on your hands and knees, you take a second to glance up at her. She seems imperceptibly tall from down there, the sway of her hips from side to side magnetically keeping you in place, the cut of her pale blazer and the sharp red hair swinging as she walks, the step of cane perfectly timed to be quietly erotic as well as functional.

As Wilhemina reaches the bathroom, she tells you with only a snap of her fingers what she wants. Its a well trod and familiar pattern; and the repetitive nature of your behaviours together dampen your anxiety. You question whether you would be able to manage college without her to keep your worries in check.

You cross to the far wall, where your rectangular fleece mat is perched on the low sill of the window. The white framed window runs the whole height of the wall, the city laid out beyond it, its one of your favourite perches. All the assignments and stresses you have to manage in your life outside these walls were forgotten when you were with her. There was a simplicity to being able to sit back and not need to think. You cross your legs relaxing and leaning against the glass, silently watching her lean heavily on her cane as she reaches to turn on the taps of her roll-top bath, wondering who she's making it for. Miss Venable winces slightly as she straightens, and rubs her hand on the bottom of her back, slanting to one side as if something is caught.

The guilt starts to creep in. You should be doing that for her. You hate watching her struggle, her back afflicting her more than she would ever admit. Your fingers scratch the mat, the glass cooling your bare skin and you whine. “Miss Venable? Can’t I do that - “

“No.” She snaps, unbuttoning her blazer and hanging it on the towel rail, rolling up the sleeves of her white shirt and loosening the lilac tie from around her neck, hooking it over her head and off. She draws up the small three legged stool, covered in creme material with gold and purple flowered detail.

Wilhemina carefully lowers herself to sit on the stool, too low really for her needs, but to sit beside the bath with you, its necessary - and she refuses to compromise to her limitations. She rests her cane against her leg and reaches her arm over the side of the bath testing the water, playing her fingers through the warmth. “Come here.”

You smile and crawl over to her, sitting neatly in front of her. “Well lift your hair, I’m not ruining your collar in the water -“ You’d already started to obey, but when she finishes her sentence you hear her intentions you quickly spin around and shake your head at her. She spouts a grunt of annoyance at you. “Now - “ Miss Venable repeats emphatically, clacking her cane to make her point. But you still don't want her to take it off.

“Please,” You mumble, touching your fingers to your neck, curling them into the circular band.

She automatically slaps you across the cheek, your defiance only risking to rile her up again when she's only just calmed down. You yelp, your face nearly hitting the side of the bath, her quick correction startling you.

But seeing you cling onto it, Wilhemina sighs, and pushes on her cane to standing. The sound of hot water rushing into the bath fills the room with noise. You lean away for moment, half-wondering if she's going to use it to beat you again for your refusal. But instead she wanders with it across the bathroom, peering at the left out pieces of jewellery on the cabinet, abandoned from previous times she’d showered or bathed, of course having taken her jewellery off beforehand. She picks a thin silver necklace with amethyst teardrop pendant, dangling it from her fingers as she walks carefully back across the bathroom, aware the steam from the hot water may make the floor slippery for her cane to find purchase.

“Your attachment is touching, but I’m not going to compromise.” Miss Venable stares down at you, clacking her cane twice. You drop your shoulders defeatedly, chewing the inside of your cheek. You slowly lift your hair for her, feeling her fingers fiddle the buckle and undo the collar. Pressing your chin down to your chest, it feels weird not having it in the way. “You may wear this, of mine.” Tucking the collar into the pocket of her skirt, she unclasps the necklace and reaches her arms around you, laying the pendant gently on your chest and doing it up. Her fingers stay there, playing lightly on the nape your neck. “You still belong to me, dear thing, even when you take your collar off.”

You gaze into her eyes. You want to kiss her, show her how much her statement means, but even this is not your choice. So you let the warmth of her words fill you, and just nod lightly. “Thank you, Miss Venable. I know its silly but… I just feel better when,” You trail off, wanting more of a reassurance, but as she leans on the bath and her cane to stand tall again, you simply rest against her leg and this is enough. “I know who I am and what I’m meant to do and - “

“Sssh.” You feel your hand lay gently on your head, hushing you. “Time for your bath.” You look up, then nod, doing as you’re told. She was the strong one, and you were glad of it. Stroking the pendant she’s gifted you, your place and her affections are reaffirmed, making you smile lightly as you stand and hook your leg over the bath. “I cant leave those bruises until tomorrow,” She murmurs, seeing your back as you touch your toes in the water, then ease yourself in. Her lips bunch.

“I don’t have to go to college,” You try to appease her discontent, enjoying the way the waters heat seeps into your pounding muscles, glad of the therapy so soon after a session. “If, they’re bad, I mean …,” You gnaw your lower lip. You _know_ they're bad. They’re agony. She takes the sponge from the side and dips it in the water, rubbing it together with a bar of soap until it lathers.

Miss Venable takes your chin between her fingers and turns your head to her, her nails digging into your skin. It pinches, and you feel your clit tingle instantly. “You’re not using me as an excuse to skip class.” She tells you firmly. “Behaviour like that I will not tolerate.” You nod, your breath whimpering out of you as she lets you go. “But you can keep the necklace, if it helps.”

You reach up and touch it, the small circular stone hanging around your neck. Playing with it between your fingers you feel a kind of satisfaction, knowing you have broken through her steely exterior enough that she would give you something like this with ease, because _you_ might need it. That she thinks of you when you're apart just as you think of her. Wilhemina Venable only ever said how she felt through gestures like this. If you weren’t so attentive, they would pass you by they were so fleeting, and their significance would be lost. 

Her phone rings sprightly and suddenly in her purse; and her long red ponytail flicks as she turns her head to the sound, narrowing her eyebrows suspiciously. “Keep going.” She stands, pressing the sponge into your hands. She went to dry her hands on a towel by the door, glancing back at you. “I expect you to be washed when I return,” She says, cane clacking the marble floor heading out to answer it.

You wait a beat, leaning your head out the bath watching to see for when Miss Venable was far enough away, then dove your hand into the water, sneaking it between you legs to briskly alleviate the long-ignored ache she had summoned in you. You had to be quick, give yourself just enough release and not leave yourself wanting, because having your arm yanked away halfway through was worse.

 _You’d got caught before._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set that evening, after Jeff and Mutt offer her the position as Administrator for Outpost 3.

It was three more days until her mood shifts.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” Miss Venables called cheerily through the apartment, her narrow purple heels appearing around the breakfast bar. She unhooked her bag from her arm and placed it on the white counter top along with her keys, and a tall brown paper shopping bag, glancing over to you with bright adoring eyes.

 _Today was a good day._ Your heart swelled.

Her cane steps hurried unhindered as she crossed the room to your crate, your face pressed to the bars awaiting her. Had she been to the doctors today? You don't remember it in her diary planner, but she seemed lighter on her feet.

You curled your fingers through the bars, whining over the ball gag for her. “Alright, I’m coming - “ She chuckled. “I can only move so fast.” Reaching down, Miss Venable slid the catch open and you bound out, stretching your back and then kneeling yourself up tall wrapping your arms around her hips. Wilhemina holds her arms out of reach as she tries to balance her cane and unscrew a bottle of water at the same time without getting it everywhere, your attentions almost knocking her over.

But its been 11 long hours and she's got exactly what you want.

“Goodness you’re thirsty,” She exclaimed, finally getting the cap off and passing it down to you, expertly unclipping your gag with one hand, while leaving the collar in place. “I know I’m home late…,” Miss Venable admitted, watching you chug down the water barely stopping for a breath. “Did you miss me?” She strokes your hair gently, rubbing your earlobe between her thumb and finger.

“Always, Miss Venable,” You say quickly between mouthfuls of water. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and sigh. How important basic human needs became when you were without them for an extended period. Food, water, human contact.

Miss Venable extends her hand, and you gladly take the offer to stand up. “Get the dinner on, I’m starving,” She smiles, rubbing you in the small of your back and sending you toward the kitchen. “I’ve got some news.”

Its like she's a whole different person today; since Tuesdays impulsive resignation, packing her desk Wednesday and typing up the letter itself, she had decided to work out the week - telling her two bosses she would be gone by Friday. But what you had expected to be a solemn day with the likelihood of more pain than pleasure coming your way, you’re slightly unsettled by what could be hiding behind her smile.

You walk to the kitchen area and begin by opening the fridge, rifling through its contents to find inspiration, your bare feet padding silently from place to place as you look through cupboards to see what you’ve got. You glance curiously at the tall paper bag, wanting to peer inside, but you know your knuckles would get rapped for that. Combing your fingers through your hair while you think, you tie your hair up in a lazy pony, scratching inside the collar at the back where it caught your hairline.

Deciding on an easy pasta sauce, you set about it, putting a shallow pan on the heat, crushing some garlic and chopping the tomatoes by hand tossing them into the pan with a sizzle. Little conversation passed between you, but you didn't mind. You enjoyed the ease that hung between you, that you could both relax into your roles and not _need_ to always talk.

Or bark orders, in Miss Venables case.

You glance across to her with a quiet smile. Miss Venable reclined on the chaise lounge, cradling her cane in one hand, her palm lazily atop it as it always was, legs crossed elegantly, her iPad resting next to her. She swiped idly through the news with her fingers, huffing to herself. Wilhemina had never been much bothered with world news before, until today. Now she knew The Co-operative were running things; all these petty squabbles between the silly boys in government seemed banal, simply for show to distract the masses from the truth. Wilhemina smirked to herself, swiping away the news reels with the knowledge that _she_ knew better. She would save herself, and you, and your way of life together. She would instil a civility to her merry band of survivors, a sense of manners and etiquette, _proper_ manners - not a loose _cheers babe_ as if that would be sufficient. No, the two of you could be an example to them all. They didn't all have to crawl around with a collar on of course, but it was the principle that mattered.

“I was offered a promotion today,” Miss Venable lay her arm on the back of the chaise, looking over as she baited you with information, twirling her cane slowly in her palm.

You boil the pasta then turn down the heat to a softening simmer. “I thought you’d quit?” You ask with confusion, taking a set of cutlery from the drawer to lay the table for her. You mooch over the table and set out a fork, knife, spoon - just because its pasta and it felt more european. The tomato and basil sauce released wonderful aroma’s that were hard to resist while you were cooking, and you were tempted to dab your finger in the sauce while she wasn’t looking.

Wilhemina’s eyes flick over, seeing that you’re nearly ready with dinner. She clicks the iPad off and shifts herself forwards pushing up to standing. She draws her shoulders back, taking care to check her posture before walking, safely setting her cane forward half a step. “They must have realised how important I am to the company. And of course, to _The Co-operative_.” A light twinkles naughtily in her eye, knowing you don't know what it is. Wilhemina delighted in being the keeper of such secrets, know she was in possession of them.

Plating up her dinner, you wait to the side of her chair until she sits, helping push her chair under in a chivalrous way. “Whats, The Co-operative?” You ask. Once she's comfortably sitting you kneel down next to her chair to wait, laying your hands neatly on your thighs, checking your position.

“Oh,” Miss Venable cooed with a wolfish smile. “I just can’t imagine.” Picking up her fork, she turns her attention briefly to you. Her eyes graze down you, then lightly taps a finger under your chin. “Tall neck.” She murmurs in correction. You tense between the legs and bite your tongue to stop yourself from smiling, enjoying yourself as you stretch up tall. She adjusts her glasses, then nods, satisfied and turns back to her dinner. “We’ll talk later, and I will explain everything. But first, we eat.” Miss Venable stabbed some twirls of pasta onto her fork, lathered them with a smear of sauce. You watch her lips, those beautiful, distracting lips as they form the shape of kisses blowing lightly on her food, then smiles at the taste. “This deserves at least a small glass of wine.”

You think she's talking about your dinner, and you beam.

You head to the fridge and pour her a half-glass of white wine, because you know she's not someone that indulges herself. If its really you're dinner thats done it, then it must be one heck of a puttanesca sauce. You’d never cooked much for yourself, it seemed pointless going to a lot of effort when you were single. But Miss Venable had made it one of your responsibilities early on, and now you’d developed something of a flair for cooking. It felt different, making it for her. Earning her praise made it worthwhile.

 _You’re saying I could devise my own rules?_ Miss Venables had asked, running over their conversation from earlier in the day. Whose gonna stop you? Mr Nutter had said. It seemed to to take a Nuclear Winter todo it, Wilhemina Venable was going to get everything she wanted. It was a delightful thought. “Isn’t it wonderful, when something just perfectly comes together?” Wilhemina continues, taking the wine from you by the stem, dabbing her mouth with her napkin and taking a small sip.

“Yes Miss Venable,” You reply obediently, returning to sit by her chair. You don't think you’ve ever seen her quite so happy. Its a curious thing, wonderful of course but also - oddly disconcerting. Your relationship thrived on your exchange of power, traversing the day-to-day stresses and mood swings you both exhibited, tiredness from work or anxiety about upcoming exams. You dealt with them together. Happiness wasn’t a mood she wore often, and thus you didn't really know what to do with it. 

Feeling nicely sated, Wilhemina cleaned her fork and knife, laying them on her napkin and leant over the side of her chair, laying her plate and its leftovers down on the floor for you. Its the first food you’ve been offered since she left for work this morning - it had still been dark and her half bowl of soggy müsli hadn’t exactly carried you through the day. You hungrily snatch a few bits of pasta between your fingers, but Miss Venable is quick. She grabs your messy ponytail and yanks your head back roughly, practically pulling your over. A surprised squeal slips from your lips.

“Manners…” She snaps, dragging you slowly between her legs and bending at her waist to purr in your ear. “Come now, you didn't even bring the rope.” You catch your breath and hastily toss the pasta back on the plate. “I understand you’re hungry but try not to forget your manners,” She drawls at you sitting back up in annoyance, flapping your hair at you in disgust. You reluctantly shimmy back _wishing you could stay between her legs,_ but you do what you need to. You _had_ forgotten, but she hadn’t prompted you either, so how were you to know? Fetching it from the kitchen drawer you kick it shut with your foot and hurry back, placing the short length of rope in her lap. Turning and dipping your head to make sure your hair was out of the way, you feel her slipping the rope around your wrist, bending it so your hand was behind you, tying it proficiently.

Miss Venable shakes her head to herself as she runs the rope up your back and through a loop on collar, tugging it right down again to your other wrist, immobilising both your arms behind you up between your shoulder blades. “Sorry, Miss Venable.” You breathe, closing your eyes for a moment controlling the budding heat in your body. How did she do that? Barely a brush of her fingers and you were wanting more. Starving you of affection and contact all day made everything more intense. Once Miss Venable was satisfied your hands were tied tightly, she gave the nape of your neck a little stroke by your collar. You glance around and smile, your cheeks flushing with how it made you feel, stretching against your constraints. _Fuck it was nice._

She nudges her plate towards you with the toe of her shoe, giving you permission to finally eat. You shift around onto your knees and lean over, clumsily eating off the plate, the automatic urge to reach with your hands contained fast by the rope; and the more you pull the more you feel your clit starting to throb. “Thank you for me letting me finish it,” You say through mouthfuls of pasta, getting the sauce messily all around your mouth, licking your lips but unable to reach far enough with your tongue to clean yourself up. You don't care how humiliating this looks, you shift your ass to the floor off your knees so you can bend that inch lower, as you lick the plate of sauce and lap and lap at it until the whiteness of the china shines through.

“Well you’ve been a good girl for me.” When you look up with a genuine smile, she takes a hold of your chin and using her napkin, wipes delicately around your mouth. She bites her bottom lip a little as she tends to you, concentrating on cleaning you up all pretty. You gaze into her eyes while she does it, wondering how you got so goddamn lucky. “Go out onto the Balcony, I need something a little stronger.”

“But I can get that Miss Venable - “ You protest, getting to your feet to do it yourself. You don’t like the balcony particularly and would happily find an excuse to avoid it. Sure it was a great view but you only associated out there with a kind of, loneliness. All the vast world sprawled out in front of you and just this rectangular wooden platform holding you hundreds of metres high off the ground, the sliding glass doors shut from the inside.

Wilhemina steps right up close to you, ghosting her lips over your ear, her hot breath pouring hotly down your neck. “Not with your hands tied like that you cant,” She purrs, turning her head just so, pressing her lips to your cheek. “Its alright sweetheart.”

You don't mean to, but you whine with want. Her eyes stare at your lips, the enticing softness of them, still a little deeper red in colour, stained from the sauce. Her own lips part just slightly, her grip tightening on her cane, imaging herself biting your lips, the way you’ll mewl when her teeth cut your soft flesh and a single drop of blood trails down your chin. You were oh, so _tempting._

“No,” She tells herself, grizzling a little at having to restrain herself, tapping her cane on the floor. “Out onto the balcony.”

Your whole body slumps as she turns away for the kitchen, and you swear you hear a quiver to her breath too. You like the idea that sometimes, you can affect her just as strongly. You squeeze your eyes shut and do the same, turning for the Balcony and awkwardly slide the door open with your shoulder, pausing uncertainly on the threshold. You hear Miss Venable come close behind you, a crystal tumbler of amber coloured whisky in her hand. You glance guiltily over your shoulder at her.

Miss Venable taps her cane and takes a deep breath. “I’m not going to lock you out there, you don't need to worry.” Her fingertips reach to touch your hip, encouraging you forwards. “You haven't done anything wrong.”

You touch your toe over the threshold and shift your weight to stand on the other side of the doorway, then puff out a breath, feeling silly.

She comes behind you and gestures to a chair, taking one of the two wooden fold up chairs either side of the small balcony table. “Come here.” You’re never sure what to expect, especially after a rare glass of wine, but now whisky too? What did she want you out here for? You hope she doesn't want to take your top off, watch your nipples harden in the cool breeze or fuck you in an exhibitionist sort of way. With your hands tied you were entirely at her mercy - more than usual. You comfort yourself with the fact she’s not one for sex in the bedroom, let alone on a balcony, and she doesn’t seem to be in the mood for punishments.

Easing yourself to your knees, you crawl over lacking co-ordination from where you would usually use your hands. Using her finger to indicate for you to turn, you do, dipping your head respectfully.

Miss Venables balances her cane on her thigh and bends over, unbuckling your collar, then unclips the necklace, both together, lifting them off your neck letting the rope unwind and fall away, like an animal about to set free from captivity.

Your eyes widen, reaching for one, either - _both._ Why was she taking them off? She had at least understood enough to give you the necklace, something inconspicuous you could wear to college, around friends no questions asked. It made you blush and grin every time you touched it, that you were hers, you were _special._ “No Miss Venable please you just gave that to me I thought - “

“I’m not confiscating it.” Miss Venable puts her hand up to hush you. “I want to talk, just us.” She breathes steadily. You can see the pulse in her neck jumping, she's nervous, unsure of what she's doing. _This isn’t like her._ Where did the Wilhemina go from a few minutes ago, practically eating you up with her eyes? You open your mouth to protest, but you’re distracted by her putting your things on the small circular table, setting them safely down. “No playing.”

“Until when?” You turn your attention back to her, rubbing the deep red lines the rope had left on your wrists.

“Until I say, and I put it back on you.” Miss Venable says firmly, then gestures to the nearest chair, one of those foldable wooden ones people with limited outdoor space invested in, as if an uncomfortable stool would coax them into using the balcony they paid an extra few thousand dollars for. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

With both the collar and necklace off, you’re free to speak your mind. So you do you what you want to do, and stay right where you are, on the floor in front of her. You simply shift your ass around so you could lean against the rail and face her. “No thanks,” You huff. “It would feel weird sitting on a chair around you.”

You register the quiet smirk on her lips. “Fine,” Miss Venable is forced to concede. She had taken your collar off, she had to live with the consequence of you refusing her command.

You hug your arms around your legs. Why was she wanting to talk? With everything happening this week, you couldn't help but worry that the stress was getting to her, work was too much - _she’d quit_ for goodness sake. She was the most dedicated person and yet she’d quit her job - perhaps you weren’t giving her the right release anymore, she wasn’t getting what she needed. Perhaps, you weren’t _enough._ “… Are you breaking up with me?” Your voice falters. You don't want to know the answer, but you have to ask. She's your world and yet she's taken off what marks you out as hers.

Without them, you didn't feel … right. You weren’t special. Just a college kid like any other, with no idea what you wanted to do doing after.

“What?” Wilhemina balked. She shook her head and tried to reach for you, but from her chair you were a touch too far away and she had to retract it again. “Sweetheart no, of course not.” She settled for rubbing her hand anxiously on her thigh. The weight of information she had to impasse to you was playing on her mind.

Your heart rate settles a little, but not entirely. “Its just, we rarely don't play,” you say, fiddling your fingers in your lap.

Miss Venable takes a gulp of whisky, steeling herself against what she needs to ask. Despite everything you do together, asking such questions would bring a touch of worry to even the strongest of characters. “Do you love me? Outside of, our little games.” A flash of emotion wets in her eyes, and you rush to close the gap between you immediately, your heart exploding for her. Why would she ever think differently?

You rock forwards onto your knees and push yourself between her own.“I wouldn't call them _little,_ and yes of course.” Taking advantage of the freedom she's given you, you rub your hands freely over her thighs, dipping under and grazing your fingers up the sides, able for once to show her how you feel. “You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

Wihemina rocks the glass distractedly back and for in her lap, taking another mouthful. “You’re saying you love me. More than just the opportunity to be, crawling along on your knees and licking my plate clean.” The mocking tone to her voice would otherwise settle in your stomach like criticism, but you know this time its from her own insecurities.

“Yes,” You insist, kneeling up to cup her cheek. She looks at you, blinking back her emotions. The conversation with Jeff and Mutt was still fresh in her mind. _Are you actually referring to my disability?_ Had they only given her this job to appease her? No, that wasn’t it. They wouldn’t have risked telling her about The Co-operative, the Outposts _everything,_ if they weren’t serious. She had to save you, too. “Mina whats all this about?” You murmur in concern.

Wilhemina finishes the whisky and taps the glass with her fingers, readying herself to explain everything to you. “Its about, the end of the world.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of 'Downton Abbey', if anyone wasn't sure what it is - its a period TV drama based in Highclere Castle in England, set around the turn of the century.

It had been difficult to hear, that the end of the world was coming. As outrageous as it all sounded, Miss Venables sounded sincere. She believed it; that her bosses - _the Co-operative,_ were capable of such horrors. So unless it was a terrible game they were playing on her, somehow pacify her after she’d quit and dumped their asses by giving her an obscure but special job role, then your only choice was to believe it _was_ true.

You weren’t sure if knowing such information was helpful or a hindrance. The burden of knowing a thing was sometimes heavier than you expected, like _another_ secret, you had painfully learnt could not be shared with anyone. College friends … _acquaintances_ , knew you had girlfriend of course. But no-one had met Mina, and no-one likely would. It was too easy to fall into your roles even in public, then feel others eyes on you, wondering why she ordered your coffee or slapped your hand when you went for the sugar without asking. It was controlling, that was the point. They didn’t understand that you _liked_ it.

Now you had all this to think about? It made going to college feel a little pointless.

“So, you’re saying the world is going to be blown to pieces, and everyones going to die,” You summarise, having already through the course of the conversation brought the bottle of whisky out and refilled her glass, as well as one for yourself. With your constraints off you were free to do so, and this conversation required a little liquid courage to stomach such a devastating truth.

“Yes,” Miss Venable confirmed, her legs crossed femininely, bouncing her foot. _She had seemed to take it all in her stride,_ you muse.

You gulp a further mouthful of whisky, feeling your head spinning a little. “And that your bosses are part of the group responsible.” This was all so far fetched and yet, you had suspected that something might happen in your lifetime. The way the newsreels spun day-to-day with international conflicts and drama, threatening to spill into your life and affect or, thoroughly end civilised life. If one of any major political countries made a misstep, or argued too strongly, retaliation, however remote a possibility, became possible. All the tragic stories you had read of world conflicts before you were born would become a shocking and terrible reality for a whole new generation.

Wilhemina lifts the square glass bottle into her lap, unscrewing the cap to refill her tumbler. “I don't think they have anything, _directly_ to do with the bombs.” It made you quietly grin, watching her do it for herself when she would usually have you serve it to her. “But, through all of this what you have to remember is, they're going to _save us,_ ” She emphasised, returning the bottle to the table and reaching down so you could triumphantly toast your glasses.

You did so out of politeness, but mirrored her delighted smile with a confused frown. Her emotional reaction to this news seemed, peculiar. Was it because she knew she would be safe? That sure, the rest of the world would cease to exist but _she_ would be fine? That would be a level of selfishness even for Miss Venable.

What about all those people? Your friends, family … you weren’t close to them but didn't you have responsibility to tell them the truth, give them time to prepare? However unlikely the chance of survival on the surface, better a slim chance than no forewarning at all. “I didn't think, you told anyone about us.” You bring your knees up, feeling unsettled by it all.

“I don’t,” Miss Venable said, playing her hand idly over her cane. “Or, I haven’t. Up until now.”

You stared, stupefied by her level of ignorance. “Mina you’re telling me all this and they don't even know who I am?” You dumped your glass on the floor beside you and ran your hand shakily over your face. _This wasn’t happening. If they said no, took her and not you, then you were going to die._ Miss Venable was the smart one, the mastermind who controlled all things and yet she hadn’t considered the possibility of her bosses _saying no._ The fear settled in your spine, seeping through you. You shook your head at it, willing it away.

This wasn’t some business opportunity, or an exciting promotion, which she appeared to be treating it as. It was going to be genocide, an Apocalypse from which there would be nowhere to hide, or run, unless her coke-head bosses took the news of your relationship kindly.

Miss Venable hit the floor with her cane, the habit too ingrained to hold back even without your collar on. Your head snaps up, staring into her pale calm eyes wondering what the hell you were doing. “You’re my pre-condition.” She stated; like a confident lioness there was not a waiver to her voice. “I’m going to tell them, I wont take their job, unless they take you too.” You shift forwards to her, needing to feel close, needing that confidence that everything was going to be alright.

She was going to take you with her.

You wrap an arm around her stockinged calf and lean your head to her leg, kissing her kneecap and closing your eyes blocking out the possibility of this not working out. You feel the stroke of Miss Venables fingers on your neck, a reassuring sort of touch that you didn't often receive from her. But lifting your head, feeling her cup your cheek and smooth the threat of tears from under your eyes, you know she’ll do everything she can to save you. “So you see why my question is important. I just, need to know for certain, if you love me.” 

You sniff and nod, hoping she can see in your eyes how much she means to you. “I love you, as Mina or as my, _Miss Venable._ Both.” You reply immediately. If any part of you was unsure of your feelings before - any sliver of doubt was gone. She was literally holding your life in her hands, offering you salvation and sanctuary, a chance to keep living, to be together _always._ “You just don't give me permission to ever say it these days.” You try to take her hand, curling your fingers into hers to pry them gently from her cane. For once she obliges, and takes your hand. “I cant say much with a ball gag in my mouth.” You smile, play your fingers through hers, squeezing her hand meaningfully.

It was an unprecedented gesture. Miss Venable would never say how she felt, not her true feelings, for you knew the swirling black hole of emotions troubled her and as such, repressed the lot of them. So this was her telling you, _I love you_.

Miss Venable swallows a girlish chuckle, one that _even now,_ would be unbecoming to display. “The gag suits you. You talk too much.” Her voice is full of affection and you feel that welcome familiar full body tingle. How did she do that with just a small smile to you?

“So I’m going to accept their offer. To lead one of these, _Outposts._ I’ve got from now until then to design and plan _whatever I want._ Implement it, when the time comes,” Miss Venable explained, keeping your fingers intertwined with hers, allowing herself a touch of human contact that went beyond your usual exchanges.

“What do you have in mind?” You tilt your head curiously.

Miss Venable grew tall in the chair, reflecting a poise that subconsciously displayed her intent. Like a peacock responding to the presence of a female, opening its tail feathers to exhibit to the world what it could do; Wilhemina Venable already had all the tools, she needed simply to bring them out onto display, instead of keeping them hidden in her apartment. “Restore the respect, the balance; some, semblance of formality and graciousness that the population _used_ to have. To be grateful for what they’ve got and not always wanting more.” She began to explain.

She peered at you as though examining a rare specimen, the evidence of her beliefs embodied by you, your type of relationship the perfect example. “People crave order, rules, they devour documentaries on times gone by not out of the interest to learn, but to see a simpler time. To understand what it was like to know your place in the world. Downton Abbey is popular for a reason,” She concluded. If you liked this way of life, so would others. They, like you, would to come appreciate the natural order of things. Women taking their place at the pinnacle of the hierarchy - a position she would personally hold. Some were wired to naturally enjoy serving, like you; the others, to be waited upon, depending on their skill sets. “I need you by my side.” Wilhemina says firmly, the softer affection of her fingers sliding to your chin, instead gripping either side of your jaw possessively. _You will be by my side,_ she wants to say. _You’re mine._

You weren't meant to be playing, but her instincts and yours, were too strong to ignore. You swallow against her hand, her grip moving slowly down the rings of cartilage of your throat, narrowing her grip to squeeze the breath from your lungs.

“Whatever you’re planning, _wherever_ you are, I want to be,” You gush lovingly in reply through heated breaths. You pant, shifting your knees either side of her leg urging your hips against her. 

Miss Venable releases you with a soft chuckle. “Good.”

Her hand slips from yours and takes her cane back in hand, alleviating a twinge in her spine by pressing on the cane to shift her position. She feels you lay your head on her lap, unable to keep yourself from who you are. It brings her comfort, knowing that you struggle to break from your role too. She turns her gaze to the horizon, staring at the clouds and how they settle over the city, shadowing parts, bringing light to the others as the breeze moves them along. She finishes her whisky and lays her hand over your shoulder, a serenity passing through her. _You were perfect, just like this._ “I can’t believe you want save me from an impending Apocalypse,” You murmur, all wrapped around her leg and lower body like a symbiotic being, feeding off her energy and desire, hers stemming from you in turn. “And, live like a Victorian,” You huff, looking up briefly with an beguiling smile.

Miss Venable adjusted her glasses, narrowing her eyes in a playful almost flirtatious way. “I wouldn't break it down into quite so simple terms.” Her cane clacks and she sighs a contented breath. “But yes, I suppose you could put it like that.”

“Thats probably the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” You smirk, playing back.

Wilhemina let out a laugh. “ _Goodness_ , I need to get your collar back on before you feel it is somehow normal or appropriate, to talk to me in such a fashion.”

“Sorry, Miss Venable,” You obediently reply, habitually dipping your gaze in respect, though it is only a shadow of your usual correct behaviour. You don't stay down, instead taking advantage still while you can to lift your head back up, meeting her raised eyebrows with a coy smile. “Sometimes this is nice too.”

This seems to unsettle her a little, the more usual patterns of repetitive behaviours you play her comfort zone. This, freedom, the flirting, it felt like the early days. Your first few dates when you were only dabbling with the idea of taking it outside the bedroom. “I want to be clear, sweetheart. I would want us to continue our relationship like normal, in our roles. Even in the Outpost,” Miss Venable says with crisp clarity to her voice. This is who she is, this is how she knows how to be. You can tell she's trying to hold back the commanding voice she reserves for other, _particular_ occasions, where you have no choice but to comply with her will. She wants to frame it as a decision, but really - right now she's your saviour. If you valued your life, you _would_ comply with all wishes and demands. “You practically sobbed when I told you to take your collar off the other day, so I don't think it will be too much of a stretch for you,” Wilhemina tries to tease, keep the tone light and save your fragile anxieties from worrying about the future. _Just focus on me. Think about us._ _Were the only ones that matter._

You sit back, shoulders sighing. Its not that you wouldn't want to. _Its who you are_. But just as Miss Venable needed the reassurance that you loved her outside of your playing, you need it too. Yes, your relationship was a sound, consensual exchange of power. But when you had no college to focus on and worry about, when she had no job to drive to every day, when there was nothing else to do? Were you strong enough together to survive it? That even if you stopped being her submissive, she would still love you?

What if things didn't go perfectly and you forced to survive on the surface together on the way to the Outpost? Or you couldn't find it? How did you even get there before the bombs go off, did the Co-operative round up the Administrators on a bus or something? There would be times that you _couldn't play_ , and she would have to be okay with that. Shit, what do you even pack for the end of the world? You start to protest, needing more clarifications. “I know, but - “

“You wouldn't have to worry about a thing, sweetheart, ever again,” Wilhemina interrupts you straight away, taking your face in her hands either side of your cheeks making you look directly at her. She knew how your fears and anxieties were best fixed. She didn’t need to hear you concerns, because they were of little meaning. Any and all of the things you could possibly fret over, were her responsibility. So she already knew the answers without hearing your questions. “I’ll take care of you.” Her voice lowered somehow, like giving you an order. It felt firm. Intentional. To silence and swallow your fears. Miss Venables was used to your blind and obedient trust no matter what, and you would continue like that. “Like you take care of _my_ needs.” You nod your head subtly in her hands. Satisfied she had quelled your nerves, she takes a breath in through her nose, sitting back.

“What about, everyone else? I mean, we don't tell people for a reason,” You ask. Of all the things there was to think about at the end of the world, it seemed funny that this one was the variable of concern.

“Fuck what they think.” Miss Venables spat in a protective growl. “I’ll be in charge.”

She shakes her leg to kick you off, righting her blazer and with a quick rock forwards, leans on her cane and the arm of the chair to stand herself up. You scuttle back, giving her space to move. “Is that it, then?” You ask, wondering what she's doing.

Gesturing you to pass your glass to her from the floor, and pushes them together neatly with the bottle. Wilhemina scoffs at your question. “What, the end of the world not big enough news in your busy day?”

You falter, and shake your head. Right on the table next to the glasses she's almost tidying up, lie the collar, and necklace. “I just meant, that - “ Your eyes flick to them, then to her.

A sultry smile graces her lips. “Oh. Of course.” Understanding what you mean, she leaves the glasses for a moments to pluck the collar up in her fingers, playing the leather in and out of the buckle, flicking her eyes to your eager ones. “Kiss me first.”

You spring to your feet, the anticipation fluttering wildly in your stomach. This was something special. You reach your hands to her hips, delicately covered in layers of purple and lilac, and bring your body to hers, for once level. You catch her eyes falling to your lips, and your desire tightens in the pit of your stomach. You press your lips to hers, gently at first, then deeper, yearning for a taste of tenderness you haven’t been allowed in some time. She kisses you back and moans, opening her mouth and letting you have your fill of her. 

Breaking only to pant and catch your breath, you stay close, foreheads pressed together as you giggle happily. Her arm pushes slowly between you, her hand clutching your collar still. You ease back, seeing how she's gripping it, the tension in her knuckles enough to tell you exactly what she wants. You nod, turning and dropping to your knees leaning your head to move your hair for her, her fingers shaking with want as she buckles it up around your neck and clacks her cane before you even have a chance to look around. “Bedroom - ” Her voice growls.

Your body is propelled forwards by her words, scrambling quickly forwards on your knees back through the doorway of the balcony into the apartment. Miss Venable pockets the necklace safely for now, your mind obviously on other things, as was hers.

By the time she has walked stiffly inside and slid the balcony door closed, needing to re-stretch somewhat from that hard wooden chair, you’re already in the bedroom. She pauses a moment, closing her eyes and picturing you at the end of the bed, waiting, how you would be checking your position, craving her touch, doing everything you could to be worthy of earning it.

 _Exquisite_.

Miss Venables takes herself slowly across the living space to the bedroom doorway, knowing how each step would beat and throb between your legs as it was hers. Her cheeks flushed.

There you were. Naked. Kneeling, in reverence. Waiting obediently, not even looking up. She closes the bedroom door, and comes to the side of the bed silently starting to undress.

When she is finally down to her petticoat, she lowers herself to the side of the bed and shifts slowly up onto the mattress, her long pale legs almost pearlescent against the dark purple sheets. She smooths her hand on the covers, and pats the bed. You look up, the light of surprise dancing in your eyes when you hear the way she taps the covers. _Does she mean it?_ Your heart hammers unpredictably. “My treat,” Wilhemina whispers. You kneel up and climb on to the bed barely believing her. She nods to the bed, and you lie down on your back as you’re told. She manoeuvres herself next to you, lying long and facing you, resting her head on one hand as she reaches down with her other, playing her touch between your legs. Her fingers dip and circle teasingly around your wetness, and you gasp. _This never happens, fuck is she really going to…_

She whispers her lips over your neck all the way up to your ear, and pushes her fingers inside you. “Don’t get used to it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a few days, its a long one.

Standing in front of the body-length mirror, you stare back at your reflection, preened and primed to perfection by Miss Venable. She had selected you a deep purple dress that flowed to your knees, with cream ribboning on the edge and on the skirt, and long arms that covered your bruises. A thin cream belt cinched tight around your middle accentuated your waist, and a high neck, traditional cream lace across the chest added a touch of femininity - certainly allowed if it didn’t become _too much_. Miss Venable did not advocate the way women these days flaunted themselves for the sexual gratification of others. So she would certainly never let you out the apartment in anything she didn't _approve_ of.

Miss Venable walked stiffly behind you, judging your reflection in the mirror, the muscles in the corner of her eye twitching, giving away how uncomfortable she felt inside. You lower your eyes, the heaviness of her shadow pressing down on you from behind. She had been course and tense since she woke this morning, you were having to watch yourself more than usual. You knew without words how hard this was for her, taking you out in the real world. You belonged to her, and with the unpredictability of other people, there was too much of a danger her possessive nature would come into play and both of you be made to feel uncomfortable.

She clacked her cane on the floor twice, enough of a statement in itself and the only thing you were getting from her. Miss Venable said nothing; she certainly didn't give you a delicate compliment like you were searching for. You were nervous too. Your very survival depended on giving the right impression to her bosses, coupled with whatever persuasions Wilhemina could argue your case with.

“Face me,” She instructs eventually, and you carefully turn, keeping your posture as she expects of you. Shoulders drawn tightly back and down, hips straight and clenching your thighs, feet together in-line. It had taken her some time to get you exactly as she wanted you, the early months were arduous in learning precisely what she preferred. So now, when she desired it, you would stand and present yourself to her like this - just like you would for her bosses in a few hours. Wilhemina uncapped a pale pink lipstick, leaning her cane against the vanity momentarily to clutch your chin tightly in her fingers, keep you still as she applied the touch of colour to your lips. “I need you to be perfect today,” She murmured. Her tongue rests between her lips as she concentrates, rubbing the colour in with her thumb. Your eyes fall to her hand. _Was she shaking?_ It was barely noticeable. Her lips bunched, her internal disquiet showing in the subtlest of ways.

“I promise, Miss Venable,” You murmur, careful not to move your lips as she lightened them. You feel the edge of her nails unintentionally marking your skin until she finishes off. Wilhemina tilts her head, peering silently at her work, and caps the lipstick.

Tucking it in the pocket of her blazer, she reaches her hands to your neck. “Don’t throw a fit. But I’m taking this off,” Miss Venable says, the firmness to her voice as direct as ever. As she tugs the leather strap end back to flick out the silver buckle hook, the collar pinches your skin and you wince silently. “This is my workplace. Its brought me a level of professional success, of which recently you have been a part of, _supporting me_ in that success,” She continues, placing the collar on her vanity, taking her cane and standing back casting her eyes over you, assessing her creation. You peer down, a small smile contained inside that she’s left the necklace on.

It _was_ yours, now. She’d accepted you needed it, and that the tie between you was ever present, binding you together inside or outside of play. “Thats all you need to show,” Miss Venable explained as if coaching you for a job interview for the end of the world. You nod, listening intently. “Not this.” Miss Venable picked up the collar and gave it a gesturing shake. “Not us.”

You keep nodding, playing your fingers at you waist. She wasn’t making it easier, you knew how important this was cos hell - they were orchestrating the end of the world and this would be your only chance of salvation. But you hadthe advantage of a fairly established idea of what Mr Pfister and Mr Nutter were like; two years worth of after work gossiping and complaining from Miss Venable had at least armed you with an informed impression. But even taking them out of the equation - you didn't just, _go out together_. In the apartment you were safe to be who you were, both of you.

Personally you knew you weren’t the most self-confident of people, and this power exchange you had together gave you that space to be relax and forget your shortcomings. But that only happened _here,_ or when you ventured onto the scene together. “Its just, we’ve never gone anywhere together thats not, one of those _clubs,_ ” You start, voicing your concern. “Do I still, do as I’m told? Do I … need your permission to reply if they ask me something? Like what are the rules - “

“You give me your complete and total obedience. As always,” The corner of her lip twitches. She knows you’re a good girl. You will follow her lead, to the end of the earth if asked, and that sort of loyalty makes her feel, _strong._ You say its love, but she doesn’t quite comprehend what that is, not always. “Let me do the talking. Stay quiet and stay at my side. While passing for as - _ordinary,_ as possible. Do you understand?”

“I always give you - “ You’re words are silenced by her cane, clacking demonstrably on the floor, and you snap your head down, quietening.

Miss Venable steps as close as she can to you. “100%,” She demands in a tense, angry whisper. Taking one hand from her cane she jabs her pointed finger in your chest, repeating herself slowly so there could be no confusion. “ _One hundred percent._ ”

Your head quivers the smallest of nods, the viciousness laced through her words quashing your free will with every syllable. “Yes Miss Venable,” You breathe. _Its only because she's scared,_ you tell yourself. _She's not angry at you. You haven't done anything wrong. You won’t, do anything wrong. She’s putting herself through this, for you._

You mirror her actions, slipping your feet into your boots (purple matt Dr martens she gifted you last birthday), instinctively kneeling to buckle her more elegant stiletto heels. She barely acknowledges you, pulling her arms into a favourite pale purple jacket with large round buttons then tying a thin scarf around her neck, decorative rather than for warmth, checking her appearance fleetingly in the mirror on the way out the front door. Following behind her down the hall, the effect of her back increasingly unforgiving. You noticed it times like this, when she was tense, as if the physical pain intensified from her emotional state. The other she had walked almost unhindered, was it all simply nerves? You wondered as you went behind her into the elevator if there was something she wasn’t telling you.

Miss Venables was unyieldingly private when it came to her back, doctors visits or prescriptions. It was a door through you which you hadn’t yet been invited. You had seen it, of course; she changed in front of you almost daily, mentioned it in passing conversations about growing up, but she’d never discussed how she felt about it, or what was to be done about it. You forced yourself to remember it wasn’t a short coming of yours, this final trial of sorts that could not be passed. But these things she would not say even to herself.

Through the underground car park she's silent, only side-glancing you every so often ensuring you were precisely where you were meant to be. Behind her, slightly to one side, only half a step away. _Within arms reach._ The thought makes you smile.

When Miss Venable beeps open her sleek sports car, she automatically reaches for the door, leaning awkwardly on her cane to yank the handle back as she did every morning on the way to work. But then her memory strikes her, _you’re there._ She stands back, straightens, pulls together the sides of her coat and gives you an intentional look. Your brow knits.

She tilts her head as though her facade was threatening to fracture, a fault line along the thick tectonic plates of armour. _Why weren’t you doing this? You should know better._ You blink in understanding, stepping hastily around her and opening the driver door, giving her your hand if she needed it as something to lean on. Miss Venable just growls away your attempted help as offensive, getting into the car and tearing the door from your hand yanking it shut. The car starts and you rush around the passenger side, sitting next to her and buckling yourself in.

Miss Venable looks awkwardly at you, then at the steering wheel. She's not used to you being there, her habitual routine not quite right. Handbag on the passenger seat, cane resting diagonally in the footwell. She reaches behind her to set the handbag in one of the footwells, then looks at you again, twisting her grip on the body of her cane. As is passing a powerful totem to its next custodian, she worries her power will somehow wane if you’re holding it. But she’d rather you care for it than let it rattle around in the back of the car untethered. “Take this,” She instructs, reluctantly giving up her cane into your waiting hands.

She reaches up and tightens her ponytail, adjusts her glasses in the rearview mirror and sets the car into reverse, knowing if she gives it another thought she might snatch it back from you and set it in her own foot well and risk looking weak in front of you. That she _needs_ it.

You want to reach your hand to her thigh, touch her somehow in reassurance. But you could never do that without her allowing it first. She was frugal with such physical gestures. You sooner felt her gloved hand upon your skin than the real touch of human contact between you. As Miss Venable drives out the underground lot and out onto the freeway, you remember last night and how it had felt to be invited into her bed, how it felt when she touched you so tenderly, when you had woken with her arm lain lightly over your middle, her consciousness still sleeping. You smile out the window to yourself, and keep your grip tight on her cane.

———

Kineros Robotics was a sleek, modern building full of glass panels and reflective surfaces, giving it a disorienting feeling, like you never really knew how big a hallway really was, or whether there was someone on the other side of the glass watching you. The walls were a brilliant white, mostly angular in the centre ways and then a mixture of curves and carved out circles in the management offices, that you were sure an architect somewhere had been paid a lot of money for.

Security had been easy; Miss Venable had talked the officers down with an icy breeze that froze any further questions in their throats, as to who you were or where you security clearance was. You felt quietly proud, the way she could talk the two cents off even the most formidable of men, moulding her world how she wanted it.

The world would function, because Miss Venable said it would. Just like the Security Guards let you right in despite your lack of credentials, because Miss Venable, _your Miss Venable,_ told them so.

Come the elevator you were beginning to lose your nerves and feel a little more confident that this was going to work. You tried sending a small smile her way, but her features are stern and resolute. She shook her head a touch. “Not now.” 

“Yes Miss Venable,” You apologise, chewing the inside of your cheek. You had hoped it would elicit a softening of her exterior, a stroke of your cheek to remind herself that you were here with her, if she needed you. That your support didn't stop at the doors to the apartment. “Miss Venable?”

She tapped her cane impatiently at you. “I said I would do the talking. 100% obedience means- “

“I love you.” You cut her off. For once, you just need to say it.

Wilhemina stills, her eyes flicking to you as she touches the side of her neck with her fingertips, as if she wanted to feel how your words made her heartbeat quicken. If your affect on her was purely a mental one, on her well-being and self worth, or if this is what physical love felt like. Unsure of what she was doing - and not liking that feeling, she reached her hand out to you.

You release a breath you didn't know you had been holding, beaming as you take her hand and feel her squeeze your own. That was all she had to do. Words could not convey the same intensity as this gesture from her felt.

As soon as the elevator pinged at its destination, the doors starting to roll sideways open, her hand was gone, and you looked down at your empty palm wanting to trace where her touch had been, keep it a little longer. But the sound of her cane on the bright white floor sounded your attention, forcing you to quickly hop out the elevator after her before the doors closed. There was a long corridor that led to her office, thin vertical lights hidden in the walls every few paces that made you squint a little if you looked at them. You wondered if the combination of so much white and strobe lighting was good for her as a working environment.

Miss Venable grabbed your elbow just as you were about to walk into a barely visible glass wall, that separated her office from the hallway, and steered you around with a tsk under her breath. You blushed a little at your ineptitude, hanging around behind her as she slipped her handbag down her arm and sat it on her desk, walking around to flip open her purple laptop and check the days schedule.

You let your eyes roam over her desk, the few choice objects she had on display and how her purple, well … _everything_ , contrasted against the white of her workplace. She clicked through a few emails then pressed the monitor down, the laptop releasing a small click as it closed. Miss Venable gave you a glance and a small gesture of the head, telling you to keep following after her as she left her desk and wound her way through the few short doorways to the Research and Development lab of Mr Nutter and Mr Pfister.

A blonde twenty-something with a terrible bowl-cut hairdo practically sang your entrance, as you turned the corner led by Miss Venable, reminding yourself _not_ to offer your arm to lean on as she carefully navigated down the two steps into the lab with her cane. “Hey, Miss Venable, you’re here!“ Jeff Pfister whooped loudly, pushing himself back from his desk, the wheely chair spinning inanely. He was acting a doped up college student, and you’d only been in the room for 5 seconds.

Mutt Nutter was downing a coffee with one hand, emptying a transparent ladle of white powder in front of himself other. “Yeah, this was some crazy shit you bought last time. Where d’ya get it?”

Miss Venable smiled coyly. “I have my sources.”

Mutt’s equally awful bobbed hair shook around his face as he nodded toward you. “Whose that?

You feel heat rise up your neck, their attention on you. Glancing anxiously at Miss Venable, you say nothing, just suck you lips in to keep yourself quiet, and lower your eyes to the floor putting your trust, _your life,_ in her hands. She says nothing, letting them draw their own conclusions. Did she have a game plan for this conversation? Or was it her own insecurities preventing her from answering? Your anxiety starts to itch.

“Finally hired yourself a new assistant!” Jeff praised her, playing on his phone and swinging his arm up to high-five her, a boyish grin playing across his face like he didn't have a care in the world. When her hand didn't move to meet his, he laughed and dropped his back in his lap. He sent you a wink, which you ignored, edging yourself a few inches closer to her side. Such advances from men however light and playful, made you whine for the safety of her arms, fearing her rebuke.

Mutt snorted a nostril full of coke. “She’s hot.” He coughed, sounding all blocked up from the powder he had just ingested. He pulled and rubbed at his nose getting it to absorb. You couldn't quite believe these two were the founders of a multi-billion dollar company, or how she restrained herself from passing judgement on their profoundly idiotic and digressive behaviour.

Miss Venable wouldn’t tolerate the slightest of transgressions from you, yet she presided over and organised these two every day? No wonder she would come home and cane you out of frustration. The thought of her punishments made your breath shudder in need. There was something about this place that made you feel, _dirty_.

Jeff, playfully whacked his friends arm, making eyes at you. “Yeah.” He wheeled himself forward using his feet to pull him along the shiny floor, like a kid on a ride-on car. “Hey babe, when she fires you, can we get your number?” He stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth like a dog.

Miss Venable banged her cane on the floor, the sound reverberating loudly in the cavernous room. “I have a serious matter to discuss,” She said, her voice sombre and husky. You clutch your hands behind your back, watching her tense. You had never heard her voice quite so forced, a determined edge to it that punched through the elocution of her words.

The boys exchanged baffled glances. “…’kaaaaaay,” One said, verbalising their confusion.

Jeff narrowed his eyes at her, trying to work her out. “You’re doing your resting bitch face.” He said to her in a deadpan voice, before turning to Mutt. “Dude. She’s mad at us.”

“The opposite, actually,” Miss Venable bunched her lips, reminding herself to breathe. Her eyes jumped to you, her head tilting and taking a deep breath, needing the confidence to lead them into the conversation. “I want to discuss my, position, as Administrator of the Outpost.”

Mutt rubbed a fingerful of coke around his gums, pulling a fake puzzled face. “Of ..what exactly?”

“Yeah whats an Outpost,” Jeff huffed, trying to cover the truth, make out like her words made no sense to him.

“Hell if I know.”

Miss Venables smacks her cane against the floor, showing her irritation, jarring its wooden end. “I’ve told her everything.” You take a half step forward, presenting yourself into the conversation, wanting to stand a little more shoulder to shoulder with her. Not on equal footing of course, but that you were more important than you currently seemed to them. The boys just snorted and carried on pretending there was nothing to tell, there level of immaturity astounding. You saw her tighten her fist over the rounded head of her cane, banging it again. The poor cane was being forced to endure a punishing frequency of usage today. “There’s no point denying it.” She said forcefully.

_She will have this conversation. The world will bend to her will because she demands it._

Jeff dropped the stupid face and got serious, sitting forward on his chair, lazily brushing his hands clean of powder on his jeans. “Hey Miss Venable, telling you that shit, the end of the world shit - I mean, you gotta keep it to yourself man,” He puffed.

Ignoring his reproach, she continued. “I will take the position, naturally. But I have a condition.”

Mutt scratched his head. “Like, you want something in return?”

Miss Venable adjusted her glasses, then returned her hand to her cane, both together on top of it. “Not something. Some _one_.” You stare at her hands, the way her gloves cover only halfway up her fingers, what power they hold, how soft her touch could be underneath them. One of them lifts, gesturing to you. “Her.”

You don’t know what makes you do it, but you give them a sort of, awkward wave.

The boys blink at you. “Your assistant?” Jeff repeats, looking stumped.

Theres a long pause.

Miss Venable offered no clarification, thinking it unnecessary. Why should she confirm who you are, why she’s chosen you or why you’re so important to the human race you deserve to shelter from the Apocalypse with her. She was the most valuable person to this company, the only founding employee that had stuck with them, shaping their success with her tight control of finances, image, marketing and pricing. There were whole departments now to do those things, but in the beginning, she had done it all. They could do her this _one small thing,_ repay her for all her sacrifices. She drew her shoulders back, lifting her eyebrows at them expecting an answer.

You stare, begging her to say something. _You’ve got to give them more than that_ , you silently plead.

Finally, the penny starts to drop. “Or … she's _not_ your assistant?” Jeff asks with a lift to his voice that makes you think he doesn’t quite believe her.

Mutt started grinning, then his face blanked again. You wanted to scream from the rooftop what you meant to her, that you’re not her assistant and they don’t understand. That she _loves_ you; you, out of all the girls she could have had you’re the one that has this connection. That there’s no damn way she can manage one of these _Outposts_ without you to, support her. Emotionally. Physically. The months of you learning what she preferred, how she responded when you tried to touch her, or went to far - _what she thought was too far,_ she had been her learning too. She had to learn what she needed from _you_. And that you would always come back.

Miss Venable bites her lower lip, not knowing how to express what she's feeling. She glances at you, as if your beautiful eyes were the reminder she needed to take a leap of faith. “No, she's not,” She confirmed, and you feel a swell of pride. This was her admitting you were important to her. The amethyst necklace. _Now this?_ You started to reach for her forearm, you need her to know what this means to you.

But then you remember where you are, the white walls and floors flanking you on every side, and the two dopey men sitting in front of you are controlling both of your fates. You change your mind, and clutch your hands behind your back. “So do you accept my offer or - “ Miss Venable trailed off. You could tell she was reluctant to explain further. That would mean details, personal confessions.

Jeff smacked his lips and shrugged. “Well, all the spaces are kinda booked.”

Mutt nodded a slow agreeing nod. “And they’re expensive.”

Miss Venable rushed a half step forwards, reaching for their attention as they started to turn back to their computers and their coke. “She won’t be needing her own room,” Miss Venable blurts out, dropping her guard just momentarily.

“Wait - what?” Jeff tipped a fresh ladle of coke onto his plate trying to balance it on his lap, flicking his hair from his face as he leant down to snort some. “Who is she to you?” He asked skeptically. Mutt looked up from the computer keyboard with bemusement.

Her shoulders hunch. Wilhemina reaches a hand as if to brush some hair from her eyes - but theres not a strand out of place and you frown, seeing the tears forming quietly behind her glasses; how quickly she blinks them away before looking back up at them. _She knew she was losing control of the narrative, and if she fucked it up this would be your life._ “She’s _mine_. Thats all you need to know.” She announces finally. You quietly step down the steps to stand with her, and touch the corner of her elbow.

“Yours? Like what like a pet?” Mutt snorted. You still, watching her, then watching them, your adrenaline firing around your body at a hundred miles an hour not knowing where to look.

Jeff leapt out of his office chair onto his sneakers clapping his hands together. “Fuck dude that would be hot - “ He sniggered like a frat boy, the gravity of the situation completely passing him by. You feel your own tears welling, your hands shaking as you hear them starting to holler and laugh.

Miss Venable simply brings keeps hands together, tighter, her nails digging into her own flesh, struggling to contain herself knowing theres nothing you can do for her in this moment. She needs to face it, admit your relationship and ride out whatever they were about to throw at her.

_She had to hold onto her self-control. Just a little longer._

“Yeaaahh…. wooh!” Mutt and Jeff high five one another and thinking they're just getting carried away with thoughts of Roxy and Cricket and high-flying escapades, imagining you and Miss Venable in their places, or whatever depraved thoughts that were running through their drugged up brains. It was just boyish fantasy. Until their laughter died down and met only silence. “Wait she's not saying anything.” Mutt’s mouth gaped at you both. “Miss Venable you’re not - dude she's not denying it.”

“Miss Venable has a girlfriend,” Jeff teased, a mean streak to his voice that made him sound like the high-school bully picking on the kid with glasses. But this wasn’t high school or college, this was real life. Real peoples lives. They were part of an organisation that were going to murder millions of people and they teased her about this? 

Mutt slapped his best friend on the back. “I told you she was into chicks! Dude you totally owe me a hundred bucks.” Jeff swiped back at him and the pair began almost play fighting in some frenetic way.

Wilhemina runs her fingers along her forehead, telling herself to let it go. _Let them talk their silly talk_. If was the means to achieving the end she wanted, so be it. She could suffer their thoughtless jibes, she had taken it her whole life from boys and men like them. If it wasn’t her back, it was her sexuality, being the foster kid constantly changing school she had lived this big revelation scene over and over.

Achieving a string of A-grades and an Ivy-League scholarship despite her modest background was supposed to be her glorious success, her ticket away from such mindless cruelties. Only to get there and be the scholarship kid. _Still_ not worth the same as everyone else.

Jeff waved his arms trying to calm them down the way drunken lads tried to address a room of ravers like anything they were about to say was worth hearing. “Alright alright here’s a deal. Tell us if she's your girlfriend, no no tell us - whose the guy,”Jeff looked at Mutt agreeing this was a great deal. “Yeah we wanna know that shit.”

“Do you wear a strap-on when you fuck?” Mutt jeered.

“Ohhhhhh shit yeah tell us some details about whose on top who does do and we’ll squeeze her in to your Outpost.” Jeff cleaned his nose on his shirt sleeve. “Want yourself a little _fun-time_ at the end of the world, huh Miss Venable?” He put his hands on his hips, thrusting them back and for in a jutting motion that made Miss Venable’s lip twitch angrily. _Enough_.

You were powerless to do anything, to say anything to save your own life. But more than that, you sensed how they were hurting her; talking about you, about her, in such an overtly hyper sexualised way it was as though her whole personality everything she was was being reduced to the single fact that she found women, over men, attractive.

“Boo-ya!” They hollered ecstatically, as though they had won an imaginary bet with one another. They had no idea what they were doing.

“How dare you talk with such crude and vulgar language about - ” Miss Venable started, unable to contain her rage any longer, pressing on her cane as she marched towards the nearest one of them. “My personal life is none of your business,” She snapped, rounding on Mutt and looming over him so much he was pinned back in his seat, his face looking like he was in a sports car with the windows down hurtling out of control down the freeway. “I have simply come to you with a contractual pre-condition of employment. Either you accept that or you don’t. All I require from you is an answer.” Miss Venable turns her head to look at Jeff, demanding a response from one of them. He wheels himself away as quickly as he can.

Jeff’s face fell flat, the games over. “Like I said. Places are full.”

You swear if this was any other time you would earn yourself a beating for doing this without a direct order - and hell you still might get it tonight. _But she needs you_. You squeeze your eyes shut, and command yourself to do it. You tuck one foot behind the other, reaching your hands to the floor as you slowly lower yourself to your knees, tucking yourself into her side, pressing against her legs and beg them. “Please.” You force the word louder, so everyone in the room hears you.

Miss Venable feels the wind knocked from her chest, her eyes dropping you to in shock. You have no idea what she's going to do, but you’re desperate. _You want to live_.

You see Mutt’s mouth fall open, agape. “Dude … check it out!”

Jeff lifts his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead giving away the fact he's not all as young as he acts. “You’ve really got the whole Dominatrix look down,” He decides, giving Miss Venable an impressed thumbs up. He slides the plate of coke back onto the table, and gets up to retrieve the interactive board pen, thinking they should probably just wrap this awkwardness up if they were going to get any work done that day. “Just saying. If you ever swing back the other way guys pay a lot o’money for that.”

You feel her hand release itself from her cane, and touch over your hair, lightly at first, feeling her way into such behaviours outside of the apartment. “I take it then, that you deem her worthy of saving.” Her touch becomes more purposeful, possessive, and rests around your head and neck, her forefinger stroking the soft skin behind your ear. You relax instantly. _She's not mad at you_.

“She can come over here and kneel as much as she likes - “ Jeff indicates to the floor next to him, tapping the big world map into life, dots appearing with the locations of Outposts scattered across the globe.

Mutt snorts. “Yeah, you sure we cant put her in _our_ Outpost?”

Miss Venable throws her hand out to you, growling instructively. “Stay.” You recoil onto your haunches, staying put as she wanders the room. “Now you boys, we’ve known each other a long time. Haven't we?” She runs her finger along one of the desks, a skin-covered hand and arm resting on its side with the wires exposed. “I’ve done by fair share of, _questionable_ actions in service of this company.” They look at each other guiltily, rather than admitting knowing she’s right. “So if I hear you, talking such obscenities, about my girl again, I will blow this whole thing, wide open. So how about, you put her name on my list and you do it _right now_ , before I go to CNN, to Fox and every major news outlet there is, tell them what it is you and your, organisation have planned.”

Mutt stared at his shoes. “That would be … bad.”

“Do we have a deal?” You can’t breathe. The room is silent, her words hanging in the air, your future, your future _with her,_ your life - everything resting on them giving in to her demand. _She's doing this for you._ You kneel up a little, needing to hear their answer, needing to just _know._

“Yup. Got it.” Mutt nodded hurriedly, giving Jeff a wave to get on with it. They didn’t like this sort of responsibility and confrontation. Just give the woman what she wanted and then she’d go away.

Jeff shrugged, attempting to play the whole thing casually, as if he hadn’t been filling his pants like a kindergartener. “Yeah I’ll do your guest list now, change it up. Its no biggie - “ His laugh was strained and awkward. They’d both just got their asses handed to them, and they knew it.

Miss Venable smiled. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.” She turns her back on them, leaning heavier on her cane than before, her own adrenaline swirling into a melting pot of gratifying success, and utter disbelief that she actually did it. When she reaches your side, you tip your head back and look up at her from the floor. She gives your cheek a brush with her fingers, leaving them dancing in front of your lips and you don't care if they're in the room you don't care if its seen as humiliating or desperate or deviant. But you kiss them, you kiss her fingers with a thankfulness you can’t ever repay. “Good girl.” Wilhemina lets herself take a breath, with her back to them she relaxes her features for just a second, then turns her hand over - giving you the offer and gesture to stand. You nod, putting your hand in hers and pushing up onto your feet once again.

“Lets go. We’re done here.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say in advance to our dear Miss Venable, that I'm sorry ...

You’re surprised that she stays at work the rest of the day after that. Although your morning encounter with Mr Nutter and Mr Pfister had been successful, it had not been without its turbulence, their attitudes forcing a renunciation of the veil of secrecy she had so far kept her personal life - and _you_ , hidden behind. It had been, raw.

You’re already on the guest list and theoretically, you have nothing else todo here. You console yourself each and every time a delivery is brought to her office and questioning glances are sent your way, that if she wanted to send you home, hide you away again, she would. But there was nothing to gain from that now. So you follow her like a shadow when she goes to lunch, sit oppositeher and eat nothing, unable to - by her command, and unwilling to, leave her side.

You sit beside her desk for the afternoon, watching her work. She’s calm, efficient, her voice light as she answers the telephone or talks through the intercom - her professionalism impressing you. But the sour taste has not left your mouth, the way they had so easily thrown mocking words and taunts at her. How had she gotten over it so fast? She had been emotional, _affected -_ you could see it in that second she had turned around and let her guard drop, before resolutely locking her feelings away again and looked up, beckoning you with her to go.

Every so often Miss Venable would send you for a glass of sparkling water; you would return and place it on the desk next to her hoping for a smile of recognition, but nothing came. She would simply snap her fingers and point to the spot you had left, and continue typing on her laptop.

The hours ticked by.

You hungered for some sort of attention, even for her to look your way. This was worse than being at home in your crate. At least there you could relax, and wait, knowing she would return and her focus would be on you. This … way of ignoring you entirely gnawed away at you.

You should be celebrating, surely? Miss Venable had secured your place in her Outpost, you had shown a praiseworthy level of resilience that allowed you to kneel, not caring what they said - because what they thought didn't matter. What mattered, was that they did what _you both_ wanted, and save your life.

The drive home was spent in an equally long silence, her only words to you simple and instructive. Sit there. Hold this. So by the time you followed her through the apartment door, relief washing over you that you were home, that you had achieved your goal together - a team now unbreakable _inseparable_ not even by nuclear winter; you felt the wind knocked from you when you crouched to unlace your boots, and felt her hand on your shoulder. “Stay down.” Your eyes close, and you smile to yourself.

Its a different kind of relief, feeling her touch - her words directed to you, her gaze, _finally_ on you. You finish unlacing the second boot and push them neatly under the coat rack, then arrange yourself on your knees as she liked. “Miss Venable…?” You lift your eyes slowly, her instruction had not gone further than that, and you want to know. Were you going to celebrate now? Was this it? You feel your nipples harden inside your bra, her hand stroking over your hair tenderly.

“Fetch your collar, there’s a good girl,” She murmurs, giving you a gentle nudge at the back of your head. Everything about her seems gentle, but after such a long a day of _nothing_ , neither pleasure nor punishment, you almost don't trust this. You crawl across the floor, struggling to go even a few metres because you’re in a dress and you keep kneeling on the damn skirt bit, as it pulls and you nearly fall on your face. You’re forced to pause, hook the skirts up around your hips and carry on, your cheeks reddening, feeling like you’re somehow failing to give her the submission she wants because of the impracticality.

Its resting on her vanity in the bedroom where she’d left it that morning, and you kneel up, biting down on the leather and return to her with a well-trained obedience. Miss Venable has moved through to the kitchen, is leaning stiffly on her cane to open the lowest drawer of the kitchen island, retrieving the brown paper bag from the week before, its top rolled down, contents untouched.

Returning to her feet you sit back, resting your hands on your thighs readjusting your skirts so you don't look ridiculous, and she takes the collar from your lips with no thankyous to be given. She doesn’t have to of course, its her prerogative to praise you or punish you when and how she wants.Its just, you had expected praise tonight, given what you had achieved together. _Your future_.

Miss Venable wastes no time in looping it around your neck, the buckle pressing on your throat as she tightens it - and you swear its a hole tighter than normal. You clear your throat and feel it pressing on your windpipe constrictively. “Why have you still got clothes on?” She frowned, huffing a little, her tone mocking.

Of course you still have your clothes on - she hasn’t told you to take them off and she was in charge. You couldn’t just do these things of your own fruition. Was she trying to trick you? “Sorry, Miss Venable - “ You mutter in confusion, quickly unzipping your dress and slipping it of your shoulders, pushing it down to your waist and having to shift to kick it off your legs, pausing briefly to see if she meant your underwear as well. Your eyes fall to her hands, her fingers unrolling the top of the paper bag, its sides crinkling as she reaches inside, and sets its contents on the counter.

A long, wound up length of purple rope. Your lips part, a hungry breath pouring from deep inside your core. 

Her eyes fall to you, noticing that you had stilled, distracted. Miss Venable raises her eyebrows staggered that you still haven't worked it out. You quickly carry on, unclipping your bra, slipping your panties down to your ankles and leaving your clothes in a pile next to you, kneeling at her feet, naked.

Her hand appears before your face, and you glance up, taking her hand to stand. Her cane echoes quietly as she steps around you, unknotting the end of the rope and letting the length of it drop to the floor with a soft thud. Your skin prickles, dipping your head as she circles you in a slow, predatory manner. “You do realise what happened today,” Miss Venable says slowly, ghosting her fingers over your back, tracing a line from hip to hip, around to your navel and dipping to the curls between your legs.

“Yes, Miss Venable,” You whimper, her touch summoning a tingle from your clit as if she was a goddess herself, creating energy, bringing forth a force in you only she could control. She reaches the rope up then, other hand remaining on her cane, to loop the rope around your neck, so its hanging over both your shoulders like a scarf. Your fingers move of their own accord from by your sides, touching the side of the rope with an aroused smile, it feels nice against your skin, the rope isn't rough or too textured, but smooth. Expensive.

Miss Venable takes the ends, one in both hands, then steps right up close to you keeping her cane balanced between your bodies so both her hands were free to criss cross the rope around your body and back, back to front, her mouth moving towards your neck as she whispers accusingly. “Then, its _astounding_ to me that you haven’t yet found the strength to apologise.”

As she steps back, she yanks the rope and it all tightens like a cobra, digging deliciously into your skin.

Your mind clouds. What was she talking about? “Apologise?”

Wilhemina slaps you hard across the cheek, and your head spins, your cheek stinging. _She’d wanted that to hurt._ Your mouth dries and you look back at her, your eyes searching wildly for answers. She drops the rope down between your legs, arranging it with a play of her fingers just so, the rope running either side of your clit, through your folds framing your most sensitive nerve-endings. She walks behind you to retrieve the ends from between your legs and pull them through, the rub of the rope eliciting a painfully immediate friction on your clit from all sides. Your breath falls from your mouth and you gasp. _Fuck._

Standing behind you, she keeps the ropes together in one hand, leaning on her cane with the other. She yanks them again, and you almost buckle over with the intensity of sensations that spring from inside you. “You knelt,” Miss Venable growls in to the shell of your ear.

Your eyes widen. _But …? When did she mean? You’d been kneeling all day. Did she mean during the meeting with Jeff and Mutt?_ Yes, you’d knelt, but she’d come to your side, run her fingers over your hair and relaxed you, shown you she wasn’t mad. Now she was acting like, she _was_ mad all along. Your jaw locks in worry.

You’d had the whole day and you’d said nothing. Done _nothing,_ and she’d been waiting for your apology? Your mind races and reframes everything that happened since that morning and the realisation falls in front of your eyes; thats why she’s been ignoring you. Miss Venable was simply controlling herself until she got home, delaying your punishment.

You knew it had been a risk doing what you did, you knew it was stepping outside of her rules but your life had been on the line. “…yes but - “

“You knelt, and did what I explicitly told you not to. You showed them… _us._ ” Her words bite ferociously. _You had done that._ You had disappointed her, and that hurt more than any of the insulting things her bosses had said. Words and taunts could roll off her like water off a ducks back; she believed her armour impenetrable. But underneath there were soft downy feathers, easily damaged if she opened her wings.

“They had already worked it out Miss Venable they were saying those things - “ You try to explain. She’d taken you in and sheltered you and you took advantage of her safety, of her vulnerability for you own selfishness, just to _live._ But living with her mad at you? You squirm and repel the thought. You didn't want to survive the Apocalypse now to not have her. “So many awful things and I thought - “

“No you didn’t, _think,”_ Wilhemina makes sure her words sting. _“_ Thats the point, isn't it _sweetheart._ ” Her pet name for you sounds like a threat. You hang your head shamefully. You’d crossed that line. Though to you the situation had called for it, that there was nothing more to be gained by keeping quiet, that you had to show them - you had to show that you were important to her, that you were _special,_ that you were one of the right people to save? She ties off the end of the rope to your collar and you begin to realise that this punishment is going to be a different kind of pain. “Thats not your place.”

Shifting your weight subtly, you feel how she's tied the ropes up just so, keeping them in place through your growing wetness, so no matter how you stood, or walked, or even just moved your head, it would move the collar and pull on the ropes, rubbing and teasing your clit with continuous unforgiving stimulation.

“I’m sorry,” You whimper urgently, stepping from foot to foot but it only makes the sensations stronger, the throbbing in your clit building. Your breathing shallows, and you glance around you for her, you need her to see you’ve understood. This morning had been insane; the Co-operative are planning the end of the world and you had to go beg for you life, and yet, you begin to understand that even with that, _even after_ the end of the world, her standards will never waiver. You almost respect her all the more for it. “I won’t do it again.”

“Nor will I let you orgasm again until I am satisfied you have learnt your lesson,” She snaps.

Miss Venable walks stiffly around to face you once again, tightening her lips with quietly contained amusement as you try to protest. “I was desperate, they weren’t listening … I knew you needed them to listen they had to do what you wanted, it was _my life -_ ”

“Not as desperate as you’ll be come the morning.” A chill runs through your body. You were going to stay in this all day, all _night?_ You bite your teeth down on your lip painfully, knowing if you say anything more now that you’ll only make it worse. This was her lesson. You had to accept her word, no matter what. She swipes your dress from the floor, and hands it back to you. You take it, clutch it to your naked front and nod. “Now, why don’t you make yourself look decent, and go run me a bath.”

You press your jaws together, trying to control yourself and your hungry arousal. You watch her lick her bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth, enjoying the delightful sight of how tortured you already are.

Before you have a chance to dress or head for the bathroom, her fingers reach to your bound body - the rope symbolic more than restraining you in any meaningful way - for your arms and legs and breasts are free to her, but your body, _your being_ , is tied. She rolls and drags her palm over your bare nipple, tilting her head, knowing how she can spark a thousand sensations between your thighs, and make your suffering worse. “Go.” She says again, compelling you into action. A self-impressed smile quirks in the corner of her lips.

You tremble, and nod. “Yes Miss Venable.”

———-

The next morning, you stretch and roll over staring at the side of the bed. You groan softly to yourself, the ache between your thighs igniting all over again. She’d been true to her word and kept you in that perpetual state of arousal all evening, sitting on the chaise in a silvery silk robe after her bath, watching the history channel and snapping instructions at you. _Bend. Touch your toes. Kneel._ Testing how best to stimulate you until your legs shook and your eyes watered begging her for release.

You sat yourself up slowly, and peered up onto the bed. Your frown is instant, and worried. _She was gone._ Was she, somewhere in the apartment? It takes you a few long minutes of listening to the empty silence to deduce she wasn’t home.

Biting your lip, you get to your feet. It was much easier to ignore the friction of the ropes when your adrenaline was firing out of fear and not desire. You check quickly around the apartment, the bathroom, the balcony even, but she's not home. Your eyes search for sign of her, finally picking out something that was different. A post-it on the fridge. You pad over to it and peel it from the metal front, eyes reading over her note. _Running errands. Don’t forget you have class. Don’t you dare take it off._

The corner of your mouth smiles, and you fold the note, taking it with you. Miss Venable really was making you pay; as much as the idea of going out with your collar on, heck what did you even have that would cover it? A turtle neck? It was dangerously exciting.

Returning to the bedroom to dress, you take a deep breath and try not to think about how you’re going to keep a straight face during class, wearing these ropes under your clothes.

—————-

The shopkeeper hurries from around the counter to open the door for her, the bell over the doorway ringing as he swings it open and hangs on the handle, giving Miss Venable a polite smile. She was pleased with her purchase, and he was glad of the sale. A bespoke cane shop didn’t get many customers each day, especially not from beautiful young women wanting to examine the most exclusive canes in the shop. The custom-made self defence range had traditionally been a gentleman’s weapon, a place to conceal a small sword. But laws forbade that sort of thing now, carrying more than a few inches of blade was classed as a dangerous weapon, even if it was inside a antique style walking stick.

Miss Venable had asked for the inner portion to be removed, leaving the hollow compartment empty. He’d been curious about her plans for it; why a silver headed cane with no silver dagger inside it? But he’d decided it was best not to ask.

Waiting until her path is clear, she gives him a small nod of acknowledgement as she passes through the doorway out on to the street, her new investment safely boxed and wrapped. It was an awkward shape, but it thankfully came with a long bag that she could hook over her shoulder, because really there was no neat way of carrying a box with a walking stick in.

She checks up and down the street, adjusting the collar of her blazer to cover her neck from the breeze, and sets off toward her car. She wove her fingers around the straps of her handbag and the stick-bag, keeping both up over her shoulder, allowing her to lean on her cane as she walked. Wilhemina was eager to try out the new cane, to check that the inner chamber would take one of her more _recreational_ canes. She had pre-measured it of course. She didn’t just splurge her money like this on a mere whim.

Wilhemina was making an _investment_ in your future, a gift to herself in celebration of her success organising yesterdays arrangement. Mr Pfister and Mr Nutter had buckled and agreed to her terms, with a little help from you. If she was honest with herself, she knew your disobedience had given the conversation the turn around it had needed. But she wasn’t about to tell _you_ that. She didn’t want to encourage such free spiritedness.

Knowing the likelihood of taking all of her canes was slim, Wilhemina had come to the idea that this one was way of, smuggling one with her; keeping it close to hand, _prepared_ , should she need to correct you. There was going to be no restraints on her, no hiding your relationship in the apartment. She was going to be so free.

She had had to park a few streets away which she didn’t usually like doing. Walking any distance longer than necessary was tiring. Checking her watch, she feels a flutter of excitement in her belly. You would have woken, gone to college, be sitting there in your bondage, _squirming_ , thinking of her. How you would come home to to her hungry and restless and _maybe,_ if you had been good, she would tie your ankles to the bedposts examine how raw your sensitive skin had become from her ropes and cool you down with an ice cube. _Oh, how you wailed when she did that_. Wilhemina chuckled to herself, pleased with such thoughts.

Wilhemina didn't know exactly when the bombs would drop, but they had given her the ballpark figure of a year in that initial conversation, so she was confident with your help she could get you both organised within the timeframe. Organisation and order was what she excelled at, after all. She was already fleshing out the structure of what she wanted within her Outpost. Wilhemina caught herself smiling, turning a corner onto the side street where she was parked. It was all so _exciting._

Her back was starting to ache carrying more than just her usual handbag, so she hurried her step along, leaning on her cane as she stared down the street to where her car was - so much so she lost awareness of around and about her. _Nearly there,_ she told herself, her long ponytail catching in the bag straps as it swung back and for on her shoulder. It was knocking her spine and making her wince, her handbag slipping down her arm everything losing its place and disrupting her balance. But she was nearly at her car and wanted to be home before you so kept rushing, trying to reach inside her handbag for the keys without letting go of her cane, craving the respite a comfy seat would provide her back.

She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her.

A foot catches her cane, kicking it out from underneath her.Miss Venable stumbled forwards. She spins around to see two men in thick dirty jumpers and puffer jackets laughing. “Careful you don't fall over lady,” One said. Fear trickled down her spine, making her reach fumblingly in her bag again for her car-keys; she could beep her car from here, open it without even taking the keys out of her bag it was a remote and she was close enough. “We’ll take that - “ A voice behind her said, and she spun back around, a third man making a grab from her handbag.

“Fuck you - “ She snarled, her arm looped through the handles and wrestling him for it, trying to keep a hold of it but she felt a shove in her back as the other pushed her to the ground, forcing her to let go to catch herself on her arms before she hits the floor.

They laughed cruelly, and she fought back fearful tears as she scrambled up her eyes anxiously searching for her cane which had skittered across the pavement. Gritting her teeth and pushing up onto all fours she reached for it, as the man was emptying the contents of her handbag all over the sidewalk, her personal things falling around her with careless abandon until he found her purse and checked through it for cash.

He snorted in displeasure at what little cash she had, pocketing it and then slid her bank cards out one by one, shoving the purse into the hands of one of the others. “Tell me the codes.” He barked angrily down at her, then looking to his mates.

Miss Venable’s arm was shaking as she held the cane upright, hanging onto it to try and stand but her legs were like jelly and threatened to fold, not hold her up as she stood, tumbling to the side and falling against the side of another parked car. He loomed up to her pushing her back against the car pinning her to it threateningly, gripping her shoulder as he leaned in. “Bitch tell me the codes and we won’t hurt you,” He pressurised her, waving the cards and hitting her in the forehead with them humiliatingly.

“Much,” One jibed in from behind him, folding his arms enjoying every second of watching her fear and humiliation bloom across her features, defenceless against three of them. She was an easy target.

Miss Venable shook her head, blinking back tears as he leant in closer, the disgusting odour of grime and sweat and cheap liquor on his breath. “C’mon girl it ain’t hard,” He pushed, intimidating her with a cursive and purposefully slow look down her body, a dominating light flickering menacingly in his eye. “I don’ mind if ya make it hard for me,” He drawled, grinning at the thought. “Cos I’m already hard for you baby - “

She turned her head and spat in his face, grabbing the body of her cane with the other hand and two-handedly swung it up and between his legs, smacking him square in the crotch.

He stumbled back with a yowl, his hand snapping to his manhood cradling it as he wiped the spittle from his face. Miss Venable didn’t wait, stealing the chance to get away - her car was still only a few metres away and if she could snatch her keys from the floor en route she could - a heavy blow struck her across the face knocking her to floor.

This time there was nothing she could do, couldn’t reach out for her cane fast enough as her body twisted and tumbled to the floor, face smacking into the concrete. “Bitch! Fucking dare you - “ They were on her in seconds, heavy half-drunken kicks sent into her ribs, she coughed and cried out.

“Get off me - ! Stop!” This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was Miss Venable. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t helpless. _The world would bend because she said it would_ \- she curled up in a ball as they beat on her, blow after blow of fists and feet, blinding pain bursting at each collision point.

Wilhemina squeezed her eyes shut, powerless to stop them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, its gotten longer ;)

Somewhere, a car door opened. Shouts. A flurry of footsteps. The kicking stopped, and it takes her a moment to realise, her reactions slow and delayed, her ears ringing with noise. Wilhemina feels something on her shoulder and twitches, its someones hand. Her eyes snap open her arm flying out throwing them off her, and the man stumbles back. “Its alright, you’re alright - they ran off when they saw someone coming,” He explained quickly, holding his hands up in surrender, showing her he didn't mean her harm. Wilhemina snapped her head this way and that, searching frantically up and down the street not believing him, her heart racing as she searched, needing to see for herself. _Were they there? Hidden behind a car ready to get at her again?_

“Is there, someone you want me to call? Should I call an Ambulance?” The stranger asked. He didn't quite know what to do, he’d never been in this situation before. It wasn’t every day you were witness to crime in your own neighbourhood, it was chilling to think it had happened right here.

Miss Venable pushed herself painfully upright to a sitting position, shaking her head to his questions. She had to physically pull her ankles by hand to move her legs for they felt numb, tingly,tucking them in and anxiously pushing her skirt down over her bare calves. “Who are you?” She demanded, fumbling for her glasses through blurry vision and replacing them blinking the world into clarity.

He stood back, awkwardly gesturing. “I live across the street. I was getting in from work and saw them and - should you be sitting up? Do you need this - ?” He noticed her cane, and fetched it bending over with such fluidity it made Miss Venable’s insides twist, him giving it a look over with vague interest, seeing it wasn’t your usual medically issued walking stick, but wooden, well loved and somewhat classical.

He offered it down to her with a kind smile. She viciously snatched it out his hands as though it was being contaminated by _a man_ touching it; but as she hung on it to shift her position, biting down a yelp of pain he scratched his head, unsure of what to do. “Yeah, I’m going to call an Ambulance.” They were professionals. They would know what to do.

“Don’t.” Wilhemina snaps. “I just need my phone - “ The last thing she needed was more well-meaning medical personnel assaulting her with questions, examinations and x-rays - at worst there was a few ribs broken, they would heal themselves, she told herself. She had to get out of here, get home, but when she reached her hand to the rounded handle of the cane to lift herself up, her hands shaking she cried out and crumpled back to the floor, hooking her arm around her middle in pain. _Fuck_.

She bit back her tears, grinding her teeth. _This wasn’t happening._ She wouldn’t let you see her weak, she _wouldn't accept_ _this._

Miss Venable consoled herself with the knowledge they would be dead soon. The bombs were coming, and bastards like that would be made to suffer prolonged radiation exposure at the very _least,_ if they didn't die in the initial blast. Sickness, cancer, death. She could feel her anger welling up inside of her, no, they she couldn’t wait that long. _She’ll make them pay. She was going to find them and kill them and -_

“Hi, yes I’m just past corner of Main Street and Humboldt, theres a woman that’s been assaulted - yes she's conscious- “ He had fished his phone from his back pocket and dialled the emergency services, scanning around his feet for her lost mobile. “Are these your things?” He mouthed as someone answered the other end of the phone, trying to be helpful, collecting them up. He carried on, answering questions being thrown at him about what had happened.

“I said _don’t_.” She growled to herself, managing to slide herself across the tarmac enough to lean against the parked car, sit tall and try to work out the fresh kinks in her back. “I’m fine!” She insisted in a loud bark, but he wasn’t listening.

“Uh, I dunno. It doesn’t look like there’s anything broken but she's pretty beat up - “ He continued, looking down at her from a few metres away in concern.

“God’s _sake_ \- “ Wilhemina muttered. Why didn’t people fucking do as they were told? Tightening both hands around the body of her cane, she kept it across her lap protectively, eyeing the man warily. She was too vulnerable here, alone on the sidewalk with this man, although he seemed helpful you could never know a person from first impression. He could be just as eager to belittle and break her; men always wanted that.

 _Where are you?_ A fluttering anxiety filled her stomach with dread, and she released a shaky breath. _What were you going to think? She was Miss Venable, she was your strength, you were hers. What if you saw her weakness too?_

———————-

Staring at your watch, you readjust your position on the fold down chair trying to keep yourself interested in the lecture. The purple rope was uncomfortably tight; she had wound it round you when you were standing, so now sitting, it were digging in hard. But there was something therapeutic about the constant pressure, like a constant hug, and you try to recall something about parasympathetic nervous systems and feedback loops you’d seen on Greys Anatomy.

You sigh. There’s another 45 minutes to go, and though it was only mid morning it was a drag to sit through a double period of _anything_ , let alone profit and loss diagrams. You hate finance, but for some reason two years ago you’d thought taking a business degree would be the way to open up your career, able to manoeuvre into any sector if you had a solid business background.

Of course it was all utterly pointless now, seeing as the end of the world was going to up-end everything and change the rules before you’d even got your foot in the corporate door. Part of you wanted to quit. Really what was the need in coming here? There were so many beautiful places you’d not yet visited, and knowing it was all going to be destroyed in a year or two put a time pressure on you to make the most of the world before it was gone.

But there was always that nagging doubt. What if it didn't happen? The world wasn’t blown up by the Co-operative, they changed their minds or did something else to make a new world order. You’d have quit everything you’ve worked so hard for. You refuse to be a disappointment to Mina.

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. An unimpressed look is thrown your way from your nearest seat-neighbour as you pull your phone out to look at it. Its an unknown number, and usually you would have ignored it, but something in your gut was telling you to answer.

You grab your rucksack from the seat beside you and stand, shuffling past peoples knees as you hurry to the end of the row and hop up the stairs at the side of the lecture hall, flipping your phone open to take the call. “Hello?” You answer before you get to the top of the steps, leaning on the double doors and they swing shut behind you, the silence of the hallway letting you hear the person at the other end.

“Hello, I have you registered as the Next of Kin for a Wilhemina Venable, is that correct?” A clear female voice came down the phone. You freeze. _Next of Kin?_ What - it sounded like someone official, something serious, how did they get your number? When did she put you down on her medical records?

You wander to the window, watching students milling about the cafe outside the lecture halls, trying to distract yourself from the dread and worry that was building up in the back of your mind. “Uh, I guess I am - yes. Yes thats me,” You reply, getting more confident towards the end. If she had listed you then, you are the right person it was just, you’d not been contacted like this before. “Whats happened? Who is this?”

“My name is Kathryn I’m an EMT with the ambulance department. We have your girlfriend here with us, I’m afraid she's been assaulted.”

Your stomach drops.

—————-

You leap off the bus at the nearest stop to where you were directed, running along the highstreet weaving in and out of shoppers following your phone’s sat nav. Turning off the main road you see the rolling amber lights of the Ambulance, and you accelerate to a sprint. _You’ve found her, she's here she's hurt and she needs you._ Your legs burn and you’re panting as you run to her, your rucksack being thrown about your back and the ropes unforgiving still between your legs probably causing some sort of burn but you don't care. All you can think about is her.

You hear her before you see her. “I did not give you permission to put that thing on me!” She was angrily spouting words and then a male voice arguing back.

“It’s part of the triage procedure I need to take your blood pressure and heart rate - “ The EMT raises his voice, irate.

“Mina!” You exclaim, as you come up to the back of Ambulance.

Miss Venable is sitting on a low ambulance trolley, the top half angled up so she could lean back on it. She’s clutching her cane in one hand, throwing off a blanket that someone had tried to lay on her legs, as she tries to unsteadily swing her feet the floor, get up, run away, _leave_. Her mind is still in fight or flight mode and she's all over the place. Your heard breaks, you’ve never seen her like this, so panicked, so impulsive and out of control. “Don’t come near me,” She spits, glaring daggers at the guy just trying to do his job. He flaps his arms at his sides dispiritedly, backing away.

A female EMT - presumably the one who rang you, puts her arm up stopping you midway. “Excuse me who are you?“ She demanded firmly, needing to determine your identity before letting you through.

“I’m her next of kin you called me - “

Miss Venable hears your voice and her head snaps up, her hand reaching straight out to you beckoning you to her side. “ _Finally._ Tell them, sweetheart tell them I don't need any of this, _I’m fine_ \- “ She says insistently, denying any need for them to work on her. You grab a yellow handlebar on the side of the Ambulance and step up inside, taking her outstretched hand and crouching in front of her. Your other hand rests on her leg, and you kneel so you have the dynamics right, you can reassure her by being below her sight line, submissive, gentle.

You feel her emotions speaking through her touch, this physical gesture loud and screaming at you. For Miss Venable to be squeezing and releasing and gripping your hand with such repetitive _need,_ it makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. You notice how she reaches her fingers to smooth her hair, that way she always does, maintain her perfect coiffed hair, her immaculate make-up, but her fingers are trembling, theres a graze on her cheekbone and her movement almost seems to be behavioural tic that flickered across her, cutting through her attempts to keep her protective wall in place.

Kathryn the EMT gives you a minute the calm her down, putting her hands on her hips. “She’s not letting us examine her, from what the witness said there could be internal bleeding, broken ribs - “

You glance to the woman and take in the information, nodding in understanding. “Just let them do what they need to do,” You murmur to Miss Venable, rubbing your palm reassuringly up and down the side of her thigh. Theres a small twitch in the corner of her eye, and she's clasping your hand in hers. _Still holding it._

To anyone else, to the two EMT’s watching you needing to examine her this looks totally normal. Your gentle reassurance. Her holding your hand. Thats what people do. But for Wilhemina Venable to be keeping a hold of your hand in hers, was _other-wordly._ To know that even at the hardest of time, she _needed_ you.

“No,” Miss Venable shook her head, refusing you point blank. “I’m the patient I have to give consent and I’m saying _No,_ ” She said stubbornly. Wilhemina understood pain, and what it was to hurt. These were injuries, perhaps, but it wasn’t _real pain_.

The EMT’s glanced at each other. “Your girlfriend could be seriously hurt,” Kathryn pushed, putting her hands on her hips.

You sigh and put your hand up at her, needing the medical staff to back off. They didn't know her, they didn’t understand her. They just saw another job, another call out during their long shift. A patient that was being difficult. “Alright, give me a minute,” You say, tempering their urgency. “Mina whatever happened its okay, I’m here now…,”

She yanks her hand from yours and brings her knees tightly together, shirking you away.“It’s _Miss Venable,_ ” She snapped, checking quickly out the Ambulance doors that they were far enough away, leaning in closer to you to correct you. “Don’t think because I’m sitting on an Ambulance trolley you can flout the rules,” Miss Venable whispered vehemently.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry - “ You sit back on your haunches, taking your hand from her thigh as your heart rate spikes. You appreciate her feeling out of control, powerless, but it made your anxiety trip, her being like this _now._ The repetitive behaviours made her feel secure, you too. Knowing what to do, what to say, how the other would respond. There was, an order to her world.

But you had had enough visits to the Emergency Room yourself during your relationship to want to avoid the cautious side-glances of medical personnel.

“Say whatever you have to so we can _leave._ ” Her nose wrinkles as she glares at Kathryn and the other EMT who were getting impatient. “We have something very important to do.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, what was she talking about? “Do? What do we have to do?”

Miss Venable turned her cane in her hand, shifting herself to the side of the trolley gripping the metal sides to pull herself up. She shook her head and ran her hand down her long ponytail, swishing it over her shoulder and adjusting her glasses, as if nothing at all had happened, and all of this was just nonsense. Wilhemina bit the inside of her cheek as her ribs tore pulling herself up straight, restraining her expression to something neutral, unreadable. “Once I draw their faces, those disgusting drunken faces, I’m going to feed them into a database… I’m sure Mr Nutter and Mr Pfister have some sort of, facial recognition, access to police files …” Miss Venable starts to explain, nodding with her head instructing you to shuffle down to make space for her to move.

“Why would you need, access to police database?” You ask, unsure if you want to know her answer, far-fetched thoughts already teasing themselves at the sides of your mind. What was she doing to do? Reluctantly standing and shifting yourself around the cabinets and chair in the gangway at the side of the patient trolley, you bite your lip.

You weren’t happy with this, but she was forcing you to let her leave, refusing any help any intervention; what if she really _was_ hurt? Her stubbornness would lead to inaction, and potentially longer term problems. You shoulders slump, pausing as she steps past you, tilting her head at you. It was as if she wanted to show you she was strong, to stop looking at her like a songbird stranded in the water disabled by its own strength, unable to shake the water from its wings to fly free. She could save herself.

“To find them,” Wilhemina says quietly, twisting her grip over the head of her cane with barely restrained malice. “To _kill them_.”

Your eyes widen, chilled by how serious she looks. “I know you’re mad but thats not the answer,” You say, shaken.

She scoffs a laugh. “Revenge is always the answer. People don't get to just, run around stealing and assaulting others without consequences-“

“Yes but you can’t murder someone!” You argue back in hushed whisper, her raised hand all you see before your head spins suddenly, the world blurring before you eyes. You struggle to orient yourself, then blink, your cheek stinging in understanding. _She’d slapped you._

Miss Venable leant right in close, digging her fingers through your shirt to your collar and tugs you forward a half step so you stumble into her. “Don’t you _dare,_ tell me what I can and can’t do,” She snarls through her teeth, giving your collar a shake holding you to her like a dog, practically biting the words her lips on the shell of your ear so no-one but you could hear. “They deserve it - “

Someone loudly clears their throat behind you, and you feel her fingers slip from your neck straightening up again smoothing the front of her blazer sending her past you to the waiting EMT, approaching you both in concern. “Everything alright ladies?” He peers at you, then at her.

You turn quickly, sniffing and composing yourself into a smile as you reply. “Yes, yes we’re fine. She’s just, its been a traumatic day,” You say nervously. He doesn’t look convinced, but nods anyway and goes back to what he was doing. He huddles with Kathryn the other EMT, talking amongst themselves as they wait for you to supposedly calm her down. “Miss Venable there are laws against that sort of thing,” You try to warn her. Bring her back from the precipice of a decision made purely out of fear and anger.

She looks at you darkly. “Not for long.”

You shake your head, small frightened shakes your eyes imploring her not to go this route. “Miss Venable - “

“Don’t, sweetheart don’t say a word…” She warns, her voice dropping to only breath.

“Look, I hate to hurry whatever this is …” Kathryn waves her hand at you both knowing theres a lot more going on that she cares to know about. “But are you going to let us examine you or not?”

You feel Miss Venable nudge you in the back, telling you to step down out of the Ambulance. “No. I still have rights this is my body and I’m saying no, you cannot.” Miss Venable leans heavily on your shoulder as she climbs down, growling under her breath as she feels pain burn across her muscles, something torn, lighting her body up in unexpected thoroughfares of lightning sharp pain. “Give me whatever prescription you have to - “ She pants through it, “ - but I’m taking my car and I’m going home, don't try to stop me.”

You know its the wrong decision. They give you a firm look, but you turn away, avoidant. You’re failing her by failing to get through to her, but she is her own strong-willed stubborn ass person and _she's in-charge_. You don’t have to like her decision, you just have to fall in line. “Will you be going with her?” Kathryn eventually relents.

You nod. “Yeah, yes. We live together.”

She bends down and grabs a pen and paper from her medical bag. “Fine. I’ll write her up for some analgesia, and a referral to the ER trauma doctors so you can cut the queue, should she change her mind,” She explains, doing as much as she can. She tears the paper off the pad, one a prescription pad, the other the scribbled referral. You take them with a polite smile, knowing the likelihood of either being used to be slim. Not forgetting her handbag and shopping, you take both off the trolley and loop the straps over your shoulder, glancing and waiting to see if she wants to lead. Miss Venable gives you a nod of acknowledgement, that you were playing by the rules again and have learnt your lesson from last night.

“And go see your specialist, if nothing else. He or she can, do a couple of x-rays.”

“I’ll makes sure she makes an appointment.” You fake your enthusiasm as you make your way past them, Miss Venable’s steps laboured and slow.“Where’s you car?” You murmur, and she points - luckily only a few cars down the street. 

You search her handbag and beep open her sports car, opening the door for her as you had yesterday, this gesture more automatic now for the practice. Offering your hand again, you’re relieved that this time she knows you wont think badly of her for accepting the help, and leans on you as she shifts herself around, sitting sideways into the car and lifting her cane in between her legs when she was settled. You ease the passenger door closed carefully, then walk around the back of the car to stow her bags. You hear jogged footsteps and you turn, the paramedic guy loping after you.

He scratches the back of his head, something weighing on his mind. “Look, I know its been a hard day and its none of my business, but if she does that again there are people you can contact.” 

“What?” You’re confused.

The guy pops open one of his many pockets and rifles through a bunch of what look like business cards, then holds one out to you between his fingers. “Just in case.”

You take it out of courtesy, reading it. _Domestic Violence and Abuse helpline_. “Oh - uh thank you but I don’t, I really don't need this,” You shake your head hurriedly, trying to hand it back to him, but he holds his hands up as he walks backwards a few steps, not letting you give it back. You roll your eyes and shove it in your pocket because throwing it down would be rude, and littering, but you don’t blame the guy. He was just doing his job, _like the last time you were in the ER._ Your brain reminds you how humiliating _that_ was. Why couldn't people just accept your life-choices?

“Whats taking you so long?” Her cane taps on the window, pulling you from your reverie.

“Sorry, coming…” You reply automatically, even though she probably cant hear you from inside the car. Lifting the trunk you stow her handbag and the long box in there, bringing the door down again and walk around the car, and climb in the driver seat for the first time in your life.

——————-

Driving a few junctions along the highway to the other side of town, you indicate off and turn into the north side of town where your apartment was. You check each way then pull away into the main street, confidently navigating your way home. You didn't want to think too much about the fact you were driving _her_ car, a damn expensive one at that.

But the silence was getting heavier, becoming harder and harder to ignore. You couldn't help it, but you felt _responsible,_ somehow. She had just got you on an Outpost guest list to save your life, and you couldn’t even keep her safe in _this_ world, let alone an Apocalyptic one.

You send your glance in her direction every few minutes, willing yourself to say something. _How are you feeling? Do you want to talk about it?_ You wanted to know more, but she hadn’t volunteered anything. “Miss Venable …?” You start, but you’re anxious. She ground her cane into the carpeted footwell, her features stern and focused. There was so much you needed to unpick, but you just knew she wasn’t going to.

_She’d been assaulted. Hurt. Her self-protective instincts were on over-drive. She’d threatened to kill those men, whoever they were. Walked away from the Ambulance refusing any help._

You couldn't process all of this in one car ride.

Miss Venable dipped her gaze, giving you a look. “Well?”

You slow the car, and drive into a parking space outside a small row of shops near the apartment, so you can fill her prescription on the way - giving her no excuse not to do it. There was only so much _release_ you could give her; actual painkillers were sometimes required even in her usual state, but would be especially in need of them now, whether she admitted what had happened or not.

“Why are _you_ saying sorry?” Miss Venable rolls her shoulders to rest back, resting her hands for a moment from their tense work making a hole in the floor. Leaning to peer out the windows wondering why you’ve stopped here, she sees the sign for the drug store and sighs tightly.

You turn the keys to kill the engine, your hands falling to your lap as you turn guiltily to her. “I - I wasn’t there. I should have been there,” You whisper, the wet sound of your voice giving your emotions away. Its probably partly your anxieties, and your desire to be everything she needs, but it was your job to look after her. Make her dinner, brush her hair… what was the point of the domesticity if you let things like _this_ happen? You went to college and why? When the world was going to end? You should have been there. You need her to hurt you, hit you cane you, _something._ This was your fault.

Your shoulders fall, your misplaced guilt making your person feel laden, not good enough for her. You pick your fingernails and bite them, shifting in your seat feeling the ropes more now that you weren't concentrating on anything else. It had been easy enough to forget they were still under your clothes when your girlfriend was on the back of an ambulance because you weren't there when she needed you.

Miss Venable slaps your thigh suddenly, making you blink and look up. “Stop wriggling.”

You rub the heel of your hand into your eye to quell burgeoning tears. She wouldn’t appreciate that from you now. “Sorry. Its the rope. Its just, its digging in a bit,” You mumble, taking a breath and pulling yourself together to go into the drug store.

She lets out a little snort. “God, you still have that on?” 

You stretch to be able to dig your hand in the pocket of your jeans, finding her note from the fridge and unfold it. “I do as I’m told Miss Venable,” You try to smile, your contentedness returning just a little, knowing that you’ve done this thing right, even if you fucked up yesterday, and left her alone to be attacked. You did this right.

She stretches her arm plucking the note from your fingers.“I’d almost forgotten about them…” Wilhemina hums, refolds the paper and gives it back to you. Lifting her hand to your shoulder and hanging her wrist there, her fingers stroke your earlobe, tease it between her fingers affectionately. You giggle a little, it tickles and she's being cute and you just want to get her home. “I was wondering why you were wearing that _awful_ turtle neck.”

Your cheeks bloom red. “I didn't have many things that would hide it, plus the _collar,_ ” You explain. She hadn’t been there that morning to pick something suitable out to wear, evidently she’d assumed she would be home before you had college, being assaulted waylaying her in the worst possible way.

Miss Venable touches your chin, turning your cheek so you look to her. “Soon you wont have to hide it,” She tells your firmly, and you nod.

“They feel nice, they do. Always being so… I don't know. Its like, I stretch a little and feel you holding me. Because you put them there,” You witter, trying to verbalise how the rope bondage makes you feel. You need it, the twist of of it on your hip and the way it burns the inside of your thighs, that constant niggle of pain like a drip-feed of her punishment, always with you. “I don't know if that makes sense,” You laugh nervously, her touch falling away as the strain of keeping her arm up starts to ache. Miss Venable returns her hand to its safe place on her cane. “I should _not_ have ran though, I mean, you did the rope tight and the knots chafe a bit, and trying to pee was - awkward…” Her eyebrows raise in surprise, adjusting her glasses as though she was hearing too much embarrassing information. “It feels amazing though, Miss Venable,” You reiterate.

“I’ve never seen you quite so worked up,” She smiles, sensing she has awakened a new interest in you.

“But I deserved it, I know that. I’ve learnt that lesson I completely understand why you needed to but even if you didn't _need_ to its still been amazing being held in these ropes all day and - “ You carry on, your stream of words filling her ears with pleasant noise. Her darkness was dampening, with you beside her again. Like a light in a darkened room you were the match that struck, producing a small rounded yellow-white glow that she could focus on. It was as if your goodness, your loyalty and affection somehow touched every corner and wall of Wilhemina’s darkened soul, led her back from the stormy angry seas to calmer, rippling waves that could threaten to show its force - but choose not to. _That_ was power.

“Alright, _you like it_ you’ve made yourself clear,” Miss Venable interrupts you finally. She would never tell you how much she appreciated your enthusiasm, your _need,_ as willing and fulfilling as hers. But right now she needed to lie down, take something strong and mute the disgusting words those men had said, that were playing inside her mind on a loop. “Now go and fill the prescription before we _run out of oxygen_ ,” She says with sarcasm, though her point clear. “We’ve been sitting here nearly ten minutes and most of that has been you talking.”

You blush again and nod, finding the script that the EMT had written out for you, and slide the keys out of the ignition swinging them into your hand grabbing your wallet. “Yes. Right, sorry.” You bend the handle back to open the car door, then pause, and let it fall shut again. “Miss Venable, could I, please kiss you?” You murmur, feeling a little pathetic. You shouldn’t be asking, you’ve got your collar on but so much had happened and she was _nearly taken from you;_ what if she had been properly hurt, even more so, what if she had hit one of them over the head with her cane and she found herself in a police cell instead having to explain herself. So many things could have happened, but they didn’t. She was here and with you and everything was going to be alright.“Just quick. Its just, I’m glad you’re okay. When they called - “

“Here.” Miss Venable turns her head slightly with a conciliatory smile, and taps her finger to her cheek.

Relief fills you as you see her gesture and you smile broadly, unbuckling your belt to shift and lean over the handbrake to kiss her gently on the cheek. “Thank you, Miss Venable.”

You yank the door handle and climb out, throwing the door shut behind you.

Wilhemina waits until you’re far enough way and lets out a long pained groan, pressing her palm to her ribs and buckles over with a wincing expression. It had taken a lot of self-control to keep her features so still and resolute, reassure you that nothing was the matter. “Fuck…, She mutters, sucking in a tight breath and stares the opposite way out of the window blinking back tears.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the downward spiral …

Carrying her handbag, the long box and her prescription bag in one hand, and with her leaning on your opposite shoulder, you fumble the keys in the apartment door. Her fingers dig into your collarbone harder than you would have liked - not that you would tell her, but it speaks to how much she’s having to lean on you right now.

“Stop,” Miss Venable snaps at you in exasperation, waving her hand beckoning you to give them to her. “You’re not even using the correct key,” She puffed, shaking her head at you and shuffling forward on her cane to do the door herself. “So I took a bit of a knock, my hands work perfectly fine. I _can do this myself_ , you know.”

It unlocks with a click and you open it for her, letting her lead. It takes her some time; her steps are measured and careful, as if each one was needing to be planned to save her strength. Denial was only getting her so far in hiding her pain.

You’re careful not to stand too close, as if hovering behind her would somehow point out that she's achingly slow, and you’ve noticed. “You took more than a knock, Miss Venable.”

You make a mental note to call her specialist, for you sure she wont do it herself. At this point, you don't care about the final trial of being let in about her back, you can make a damn telephone appointment without having to go along or get involved further.

She ignores your comment as you set her things on the counter, Miss Venable heading directly for the chaise. Pressing on the head of her cane she needs to kick her opposite leg forward, pain shooting down her back into her leg to even keep walking. Her knee was throbbing, her lower leg felt heavy and cumbersome. The nerves in her back were shot. All of it, _all of it_ because of what happened; a twelve year old with a spine starting to bend and now a woman with one so curved she was forced to act older than her years. _It wasn’t fair._

Confident her face was turned from you, she releases a long-withheld breath, and an unexpected tear rolls down her cheek, making a line in her make-up. Wilhemina hears you come up behind her and she quickly smooths her fingers across her cheek, smearing the salty droplet away into nothing. “Take my shoes off,” She instructs, curling her hand around her cane as she drops to the chaise. She grips the edge either side of her thighs as she pulls herself back to lean on the cushions.

You drop to your knees and tuck your feet under, picking at the knot of her laces, the neat grey ankle boots tidily complimenting her dark purple calf length skirt. Slipping the knot undone and loosening the laces, you gently ease the boot from her foot as carefully as you can. You don't want to bend her knee more than you have to, this subtle movement making her hiss through gritted teeth nonetheless. From this perspective you can see what she’s been trying to hide from you. Bruises swell under her stockings, the red and black and purple showing through. You flick your eyes up to her, but she simply looks past you avoidant, tapping her cane like a metronome, as if the continuous rhythmic noise soothed her busy mind.

She wanted to kill those men so badly she could taste the metal of the bullets, the very gunpowder she could load them with. But then there was _you._ She watches you, placidly undoing her second shoe and taking them to the coat rack, tidying them away. Such ease and contentedness. Did you showing her the best of humanity, somehow cancel out the worst of it?

You look to her, and she's watching you. You’re not surprised. You’re somewhere in between roles not quite 100% submissive right now but somehow still playing. Both of you were unsettled, there could be no routine to this. Watching her unwrap the couple of small pots from the drug store bag, reading the labels through her glasses, you fill a glass of water in the kitchen, determined to at least care for her here like you usually do. Bring back the order she must be craving.

Wilhemina reads the directive on the bottle. _Take one every 6 hours with a glass of water._ She pushes the white lid off with her thumb, tipping it so the tablets slide out onto her open palm. Moving her hand this way and that she plays them in her hand, and they tumble back and for until there’s three in her hand. She stares at them, the temptation staring back at her.

Wilhemina tips one back in the pot, settling on two.

With a supportive smile you head back over, having taken your own shoes, rucksack and everything else off until you feel normal again. Her ponytail flips around her shoulders as she quickly takes a glance seeing you coming, and pops the two pills into the mouth reaching with an outstretched hand for the glass of water, swallowing them down before you could see.

“Kneel down, sweetheart,” She clicks her fingers to the floor in front of her, redirecting your focus. You nod obediently, kneeling at her feet. Miss Venable stares at you, deep into your eyes looking for something she can’t understand. With soft touches she indicates what she wants, and you obey, tucking your fingers in the hem of your shirt, bringing your arms up over your head to remove your turtleneck blouse and then your bra, lying uncomfortably over the ropes.

Reaching around your neck, she teases the knot undone at your collar and lets the rope fall out of the ring, brushing your hip encouraging you to kneel up so she can wind the two ends of rope undone one loop at a time, deep indentations etched into your pale skin. As the two ends reach your waist, you pop the button of your jeans and unzip them halfway so you can drag them down just enough for her to slip the ropes through, freeing you from the binds. “I know you liked them, but your lesson is long over,” Miss Venable murmurs, gathering the rope together around her arm then leaves it next to her in a loop.

You smile in thanks, ease back onto your haunches, barely noticing your nakedness in front of her. Topless in jeans was quite hot, and despite there being so much you wanted to talk about, you knew distracting her was easier. You make sure to hold her gaze; tilting your head to the side, letting your ponytail out and shaking your hair loose around your shoulders; the way it frames your face and the dark leather collar around your neck make quite the erotic picture.

She huffs a little, knowing what you’re doing. Miss Venable beckons you up and you kneel taller, as she tucks her fingers into your collar and pulls you up onto the chaise. You crawl onto its velvet softness like a cat, curling yourself at her side, until she's satisfied you’re where she wants you. “Do you want to talk about it?” You murmur, lying on your back and resting your head on her lap. Her hand lays idly between your breasts, drawing patters on your skin. “About what happened?”

“No.” She sniffs, giving your nipple a pinch, then a flick, amusing and distracting herself as your twitch and yelp with a smile. “Theres nothing to tell.”

You turn your face to lean against her midriff, nuzzling into her scent, determined to catch her eyes when you ask. You almost don't want to. What she’d said, had been out of anger. You know that, but also, _you don’t._ “Did you mean what you said, before? About, tracking down those men?”

 _Did she mean it?_ Most definitely. She did want to admit that to you, when you seem to be, _hesitant_ to the idea. Its true, she had never felt quite such hatred for another human being as she had today, how they had belittled and humiliated her with such ease, that she could be reduced to a victim in mere minutes; _that_ had scared her more than the physical injuries. That could never be allowed to happen again. Wilhemina had worked out that one could not be a victim, if there was no longer a perpetrator.

Miss Venable takes a long time to answer. “Does that scare you?”

Goosebumps prickle across your skin, her words chilling the warmth of her touch. “A little,” You admit softly. “I don't know if I could go that far. If I’d really be capable of… not when it came down to it.” Your hand flops back to rest by your head, and the tips of your fingers stroke her skirt. You don’t want to think about _her_ doing such things, either. You take slow breaths in and out. To your shock, you feel her fingers brush yours, slowly lace together like little arches until she's holding your hand. _Just like that._ You arch your neck back a little to look up at her again, as if needing an explanation for such a forward, affectionate gesture from her.

“You won’t ever need to, sweetheart. I would not put you in that position,” Wilhemina reassures you, bringing your hand up to her lips, and you swear you could die in this moment. 

But then you come to, and realise what she’s saying. That if there were no rules, no laws no governments to stop her, she _could actually_ _kill_ someone. She thought she was being kind by dispelling any fears you might have that you could become an accessory to murder - but that wasn’t in _any way reassuring_.

You need to keep her from that path, from bringing her revenge to life somehow, you need to pull her back from it. To stop her falling into such darkness. “I know what happened … it was awful and traumatic and anyone would be angry but…”

“No you don’t. You don’t, _know,_ ” Miss Venable snaps, pulling her fingers free from yours. She shifts to the side making you slide from her lap, the ambient glow of your embrace cracking and smashing on the floor like glass. She grits her teeth and stands, leaving you looking confused on the chaise as she turns back to you. “They actually targeted me because of my disability, do you understand that? They thought me _easy prey_ …” Wilhemina says with a bitter angry voice, husky and wet with emotion as she finally verbalises her fears, her eyes pricking with tears as she lets it course through her, what it was like on the floor what it felt to be curled up on the cold pavement with their fists pummelling her their feet kicking her. “They thought I was weak.” Tears start to fall from her eyes and your heart aches for her, she’s breaking at the seams and you know it. She needs to go through this to come out the other side, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear witness to. “That I was less than them, because of this,” She gestures wildly with her cane and throws it impulsively. You wince at the sound of it clattering to the floor. “Because of my back -“ She spits it, her pacing halted by the lack of support, and injury and her arms flap at her sides frustrated feeling more disabled than ever. “You have no idea what that is like.” Her finger jabs the air threateningly, her words laced with a snarling bitterness.

She’s right. You don't know. You only watch, and observe, and mediate her behaviour with yours. You think you understand what its like, but there’s no way you could. “I’m sorry, Miss Venable…” You mumble chewing the inside of your cheek. You had to do better, she _needed you_ to be better than this. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

Your apology doesn’t take her self-hatred away, her vulnerability, everything she tries to _mask._ But it calms her a little, and shuffling he half step to where you’re sitting she allows herself to lean against the side of the chaise, use it for support as she lays her hand to your collarbone, stroking your pulse point lightly. “If there were to be no repercussions … I could. _I would._ ” Wilhemina repeats, purposeful and direct. There was no mistaking her clarity on the issue. You press yourself instinctively to her side, her eyes wandering your naked chest, your face, your pale eyes so yearning and desperate, to see the good in her, to be the good support her and give her everything. She doesn’t want to ever see you _not_ look at her like that. “But, I won’t.”

You let a short breath, mouthing the words _Thank you_ rather than saying them. It doesn’t need to be spoken, this exchange, to verbalise that _she's doing this for you and you both know it,_ but it needs to be acknowledged nonetheless.

“Miss Venable?” You say finally, gazing up at your woman, in all her layers of lilac and purple; and even with the graze on her cheekbone, the colours blooming darkly at points all over her body, even after admitting her unrestrained desires to you, you know you love her more than ever. Even if she can't say it back, you feel it burst from her in crashing powerful waves. “Should I fetch your cane? You’re throwing it a lot lately.” You huff lightly.

She shakes her head, her ponytail wriggling like a wild metal-red snake. “Leave it. I have a new one.” Her hand gestures to her purchase that seems so long ago now.

“I wondered what the box was.” You glance at the kitchen counter, then back to her and she flicks her fingers telling you to go fetch it. You’re unwilling to leave her side but less willing to ignore her direction, so you slide to your feet and bring the box over, resting it on the coffee table, waiting momentarily for her to tell you to continue. 

“A little something for the end of the world,” Miss Venable says, a small lift to her voice, the sides of her mouth lifting as your unbox it.

You stare at her. The return to normal Miss Venable is swift, too quick. Something’s not right. _She’s trying too hard._

But talking of canes and packing and your future makes her happy, and if right now that distracts her from her grief then you’re happy to go with it.

You unwrap the crepe paper inside the box to reveal the cane. Its long ebony body is brought to life by an engraved silver handle, a full head, beak and eyes and everything. Lifting it delicately you inspect it with an awe-struck sort of curiosity. “Its a crow,” She informs you, as you present it up to her like a knight with a sword, laying their loyalty at the feet of their queen. She checks it over herself, then slips it down through her hands and starts to magically unscrew the head of it. She shows you a hollowed centre compartment, a wickedness shining behind her glasses. “I thought, you could pick your favourite cane for inside.”

You half-laugh, then swallow it. She’s bought a cane with a … _space for a cane_. One of your bedroom ones. _She’d have it all the time?_ You tilt your head, curious. “…really?”

She recombines the two pieces, then drops the cane between her hands and tests the weight and grip like she had in the shop. It makes a loud echo as she clacks it on the floor, a deeper, heavier tone that her other. “On your knees,” Miss Venable orders, as if the very cane itself imbued with her new strength. You hop off the chaise and hurriedly kneel down, inching yourself forward and line your knees up with the toes of her shoes, your head bowed to rest on her legs. You heart starts to beat a little faster, and using her cane to hold herself steady, she turns, pats her thigh with her palm and beckons you to stay alongside her. “Come along then, I think it will make us both feel better.” You don't need to answer that, your pulse tripping.

As she walks, now free of your pitying glances she has the chance to drop her features, look to the ceiling and gather herself together. The pills were helping, she could sense the aches dampening, as if she was conscious of her very synapses dulling. They had taken the edge off, and over-exerting herself now that she simply wasn’t feeling the pain could cause the injuries to worsen. But she needed to feel like herself again.

Miss Venable trains her sight to her bedroom door, counting her steps as each slow sway of her hips brushes against you. You knees slide easily on the wood, jeans giving your knees more protection than they're used to. Pausing to lean against the doorframe, you glance up and she quickly pulls her lips into a lazy smile, flicking her fingers to send your ahead of her, then lets her smile fade again, unable to hold it. She wants to forget it, this feeling, this _darkness_ egging her on to revenge, to _end their lives_ as easily as they could have hers.

You scurry to the end to her bed, unzipping your jeans and shimmying them off in a hurry not caring how inelegant it looks. Your breathing shallowing as you nudge your knees to the bedpost, loop your arms up around it and present your back to her, your clit starting to tingle in anticipation. “God you’re keen,” She laughs, the sight of you making her feel better as she unbuttons her fingerless gloves, sliding them off one half-finger at a time. Wilhemina tosses them on the nightstand, then takes her time wandering to her chest of drawers, pulling open the top drawer to make her selection.

You blush, sneaking a glance up to follow her with your eyes. You _are_ keen. You’re hungry, you want to feel how she felt, you want to hurt and ache and feel the sting of her whip. You’d bleed for her. _You have._ Wilhemina takes her time deciding which cane to use, showing you each in turn - it is supposed to be your decision which cane she takes to the end of the world after all. The bamboo one, with its natural ridges left in, a silver handle perfectly cylindrical and weight it could balance horizontally on your finger if you got it right. Thats your choice.

Miss Venable steps silently over to you with a small hum, recognising this new longer birds head handle allowed her to hunch her shoulders, give the curve of her back respite from being forced upright when it couldn’t. It would twist her shoulders just slightly, alter her outline, but it was a relieving sensation. She stands directly behind you, your bare ass almost on her ankles and you swear you can hear her breath quiver from her lips as she taps your back idly with the tip of the cane, letting you know its there.

Wilhemina feels her emotions swell inside of her; you’re so willing, so trusting, how could you blindly accept these things about her, that she cannot face for herself? The facade she’s holding up for you starts to falter, like a shimmering to a mirror that changes you reflection to the way you see yourself, not the way others see you.

There was only so many sweet words you could tell her.

For the truth is plain, and hard to bear. That no matter how important she is, no matter how much she earns or how much power she has, she’ll always be weak. There will _always,_ be someone waiting in the wings to take advantage of her. To unzip her dress and revel in her degradation, bask in a bath of truth that Wilhemina Venable was simply a character, a reflection, the painted veil that kept the chaos and ugliness hidden away.

You feel the smooth glide of her fingers across your shoulder, and your muscles automatically tense. You squeeze your eyes shut. _Do it._ You will her silently, expecting the fresh sting of your favourite cane.

But then she shifts her weight, bends one knee into your back leans her weight against you and her fingers have curled around your throat, squeezing your windpipe pulling your head back painfully far. Her grip compresses your throat and you gasp a constricted surprised breath, before she has you totally immobilised and flailing in utter helplessness.

Miss Venable leans right down while yanking your throat up it so strains and cricks your back, and she bites your earlobe so hard you squeal, then blows warm air on the throbbing bud. “I would kill them, sweetheart, I would,” She whispers, her voice dripping with unconstrained malice. “Slowly, painfully, I’d enjoy watching the life squeezed from their pathetic carcasses in the knowledge they could never hurt me again. They could never hurt _you_.” Miss Venable steps her foot to the side almost completely over you now, her cane coming level with your cheek, the crows eye staring unblinking into yours. You feel tears leak from your eyes as they water, struggling to suck in any air into your burning lungs.

“Miss Venable, please -“ You manage, your words scratchy and barely able to escape your throat.

Her hand slips away and she throws you down, the flood of air cold and hot all at the same time making you cough. You stay curled over like that for a moment, your hand snapping out grabbing her ankle needing to steady yourself from the light-headed spinning that fresh oxygen brought. “I know you don't want me to, and I admit, it would be reckless,” Miss Venable crouches, her grip tight on the crows head keeping herself balanced. She reaches her free hand to you, the backs of her fingers brushing your hair from your eyes, tender, and you look up. Her eyes are so beautiful, they sparkle even though they’re somehow, _different_. You can’t tell what it is, perhaps its the light headedness thats gotten to you, for she's dragging her fingers down your cheek and along your jaw, as if you alone can distract her from herself. “So I will leave it to the Co-operative.” Wilhemina takes a deep breath in through her nose, touching you lightly under her chin, the mistress and her pupil, her words guiding, instructive, _final._ “The bombs will rid the earth of those _animals_ with cleansing fire.” You nod, for you don't know what else she wants. “I hope they _burn._ ”

You’re not sure if its her magnetising force, or if she’s right. But you want them to pay for hurting her too. You turn your face to the side, meeting her eyes, yours dipping as she presses a cool kiss to your jaw.

Miss Venable stands, knocks her new cane on the floor and summons your obedience. “Kneel up.” You do, daring yourself to take a breath as you hold your hands up to the bedpost digging your nails in to the woodgrain as you stretch you back out long for her, your mind utterly empty except her words. Somehow, you know this is going to hurt more than usual. “Count.”

Her lips part, tongue resting softly between them as you position yourself for her, your perfection delicious and sweet, the only medicine she needs. Miss Venable lifts her arm, and starts to cane you.

You hiss, then sigh, thankful. “One…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

One year later.

Miss Venable flicks through the shows on the history channel, not finding anything worth passing the time with, Sunday television boring her. She switches the television off, putting the remote beside her, fingers tapping the pale velvet idly. The _waiting_ , was getting boring. She half-turns, lifting her arm to the back of the chaise hearing your crate rattle, looking to what you’re doing.

You’ve shifted it to the side, sweeping behind it with a broom then moving it back into place. You’re working your way from one side of the room to the other, cleaning in quiet contentment. You feel her eyes on you and you look up, giving her a smile. “Miss Venable?” You pause, but she waves her hand at you to keep going. Your arms move the broom and you carry on sweeping, the pale grey petticoat you has you in shifting delicately around your frame. Its a pretty thing, thin straps over your shoulders to a shallow V across your chest, a little lace between your breasts, falling to your knee, unburdened by anything beneath it but your skin.

Miss Venable liked there to be nothing between your body and her touch, so these days - since you were at home, she had taken all your underwear and put it away. Instead she could watch how your nipples would harden when she neared, your skin flushing before she even touched you. Your breath would shudder as she reached her fingers to the hem of your petticoat. Skirting underneath the silk she would slide her fingers up your thigh and dip inside you, drawing a gasp, a reverent word. Whatever she wanted.

“Sweetheart, have you done the bags for this week?” She called, checking her watch for the date.

You still, leaning the broom against the kitchen counter to crouch and sweep the little pile of dust and strands of red hair into the pan. “Uh, no, Miss Venable. Not this week.” You pad barefoot to the bin, pressing your toes on the pedal to tip the mess away. It clangs as the lid shuts again.

Her eyebrows raise, your failure unexpected. “And why not?”

The hairs on the back of your neck start to rise. “I-I don’t know, I forgot. Sorry, Miss Venable.”

She drew a slow breath in, and out. Pressing on her silver birds headed cane, she stands and paces silently over to you. “I know it is my job to take care of _everything_ ,” Miss Venable says slowly, “But I would have thought by now you’d have the intelligence to keep track of the days of the week - “ She says, an air of scorn to her words.

You lower your gaze. “Its not like I have anything on tomorrow, I can do it then when you go to work.“

Miss Venable backhands you sharply across the cheek. You yelp in surprise, your head knocking to the side with the force of it. A single finger touches your chin, drawing you back around to face her. “Oh you’ll do it now.”

You hold her eyes as long as you can, then nod, giving in. “Yes, Miss Venable.”

Leaving the dustpan and brush on top of the bin, you head for the bedroom knowing she will follow, ever present and watching what you’re doing. She’s stricter than she used to be, less forgiving, more demanding. You’d finished your degree in the summer, smiled from the stage as you shook someone important’s hand and taken your diploma, catching her eye from the audience. She’d been so proud, and you were proud she came out to your Graduation at all, finally throwing people’s wary glances back in their faces as you showed off your girlfriend on your arm.

But the months since then had been drawn out. There had been no Wall Street corporate job waiting for you. Instead you were carefully constructing lists, buying essentials, filling prescriptions and investing in that one pair earrings you would wear the rest of your life.

It was strange, knowing what was coming, being able to prepare. You wanted to laugh at those prepping shows on TV, foolhardy families that thought they were being so clever buying solar panels and planting vegetable gardens so they could live off grid if an EMP went off or stock markets collapsed.

An irradiated vegetable garden wasn’t much use to anyone, especially if you were either dead or dying of radiation sickness yourself. Eating your greens became a bit pointless then.

“The bombs are coming. You do realise that at any moment we could get that phone call- “ Miss Venable walks behind you, her stilted pace more pronounced than it had used to be. She’s just getting to the doorway as you’re dragging the bags out of the closet. Two large carry-bags each, made of some thick cargo material, military grade. It had suddenly felt so real when the buzz-cut soldier type had banged on your door and handed the box over, with a typed letter from The Co-operative.

“Yes you have mentioned that a few times,” You mutter to yourself, unzipping each one and producing the packing lists so you can tick things off _again._ It wont have changed since last time you had checked them, its not as if either of you went rifling in there when you couldn't find your toothpaste. But in her defence, you did keep thinking of things you wanted to add, trinkets here and there, special things.

Her cane clacked ominously behind you, and you glance up over your shoulder, Miss Venable narrowing her eyes slightly telling you to get on with it. “We - need to be ready for _every_ eventuality,” She said curtly. She had the benefit of such foresight, she was not about to be caught short at the last minute.

You carefully take out each of her clothes one by one, dresses, corsets, petticoats, stockings, boots, long cape looking things. Every shade of purple was included, and more recently, black too. You hadn’t seen her in any of these; they had been bought and put away, not included in her normal wardrobe. You’d seen the receipts however, you knew how expensive they were to commission. There was a wooden jewellery box; Miss Venable had chosen a few sets of earrings, brooches, silver mostly with onyx or amethyst to accompany them. You had spent a lot of Sundays trawling antique flea markets and jewellers together until she had found something she liked. It was, more gothic than her current _professional_ style. So you handled box with care, ensuring the earrings were in pairs then closed the lid, placing it one side.

A rectangular wooden box filled with fake straw cradled a $75,000 bottle of whisky. You put that to one side too, mindful not to rock it or knock the glass. You glance up at her again. She allows herself a small smirk, quietly pleased with her investment. It hadn’t been the most expensive in the shop, but she knew good whisky and her funds were not limitless. _If you’re only going to drink one bottle of whisky for the rest of your life,_ she had said, _it might as well be the best you can buy._

You’d emptied the main section of the bag, set everything out on the floor around you before picking up the list and mentally reading off of it, tapping each item with your finger checking you had it in place. At the end of each page you repack the items, then check the sides.

You knew what was in them, but this was the only thing you really wanted to check, _and count._ Unzipping the first side pocket you pull out the clutch bag, its contents rattling descriptively. You tap each pot with your finger, counting them, all the way up to 50. “Do you still need all these tablets?” You ask, pulling each pot out on by one to the light, giving them shake to make sure they’re full. “I’ve been filling your prescription twice a month like you told me to Miss Venable, but its really starting to mount up.” You close the clutch bag and replace it, knowing the opposite end of the bag contains exactly the same in that pocket too.

Miss Venable adjusts her shoulders. “Its important to stock pile. This is the end of the -“

“Yes its the end of the world.” You interrupt, ready to take whatever punishment you have to for speaking out of turn, because ultimately you’re just worried. You’re her keeper and she is yours. You take the second clutch bag and check those pots too, tapping each one and pulling them out to the light. “But this is a lot, Miss Venable.”

One doesn’t rattle, and she turns her eyes away from you. “I need it.”

You slide the empty pot back into the bag, saying nothing, replacing it into the zip compartment and sit back on your heels. It had been full last week. You make a mental note to change it out when you get the next script filled for her.

Using your shoulders to shove the bag back into the closet, you make a start on the second. You practically know the packing lists by rote, anyhow. “May I, say something, Miss Venable?” Your hands move by themselves, unpacking the things, setting them out, going through the routine under her watchful eye.

Wilhemina turns her head back to you. “If you’re polite about it.” Her lips bunch tightly, so much tension that hasn’t yet been worked out of her.

You look at your lap, pausing your work momentarily as your fingers play nervously giving your disquiet away. Did you want to start this conversation? “The assault was a year ago,” You say gently. Surely the Co-operative were coming for you soon, and she would be swallowed up by enacting her plans she has spent so many evenings planning, all her scribbled notes coming to life before her eyes, and you would find empty pot after empty pot and that would be it. You need to talk about this.

She lets out a small laugh, as if such information is meaningless to her, unimportant and amusing that you would even bring it up. “What are you saying?” She huffs, the grip adjusting on her cane, her fingers twitching ever so slightly. 

“That I worry about you,” You reply quietly, your hands resting on your bare thighs, the silk petticoat only reaching about half way to your knee like this. “You’re still taking full quantities as if there was a recent injury. When you went to your specialist they said it was too much - “ Your words halt at the clack of her cane, and your shoulders slump. She was being avoidant, again.

“How many times do you think _he’s_ been assaulted? Do you think, white male doctors are accosted in the street or do you think its those of us who are different?” Miss Venable fired at you, as if extracting such obvious truths would somehow make her point. But you didn't care about statistics of hate crimes or ratios of minorities, they were always inaccurate and this conversation wasn’t about rates of assault to different population groups, it was about _her._ And her way of managing that trauma she refuses to talk about. When you couldn't answer, she felt proven right. “Exactly. He doesn’t know what pain I’m in. Only I do.”

You flap your hands, exasperated. You’re afraid you’re letting it out too fast, your worries and fears all jumbling together all hitting the walls like paintballs splattering messily, lacking direction. “But theres no physical need anymore. Anything that _was_ injured healed up long ago,” You whine, not understanding. You were doing everything you could, _everything, every night,_ and yet you saw her still subtly swallowing down extra tablets during the day. You’d read the label, _take 1 tablet every 6 hours;_ that was 3 a day, no more.

“No _physical need?_ Oh, I see what you’re saying,” Wilhemina scoffs repeating your words back at you, trying to belittle your concern. “You think I’m addicted.” She folds one arm across her waist laying it in the crook of the other arm as if to sigh at your anxiety, making it about your weaknesses and not hers.

 _Yes, I think you’re addicted that is exactly what I think,_ you want to snap at her. 

Instead you shake your head denying that thought entirely, reaching your hand up to her - as if she would take it, the mood she's in. Your hand falls to your lap again with a soft sigh when she stubbornly refuses to acknowledge it. “I’m saying I’m worried. Thats all,” You say defeatedly. She wont let you take care of her, she won’t let you in, and its making her back worse _,_ the complete _opposite_ of what you wanted. “And I’m allowed to worry, Miss Venable,” You bite your lip daring yourself to _for once_ , do something she wont like, but _you_ need to do. So you stand, without waiting for permission or her curt instruction and instead take the lead, stroking your fingers over her own, encouraging her tight balled grip to loosen a little. A small blush graces her cheeks despite herself, and she shakes her head you. She readjusts her hand on the birds beak, not giving in. “I love you.” You tilt your head, smiling, seeing her soften against her better judgement.

“Hmm,” Wilhemina growls softly, failing to restrain the smile behind her eyes.

You inch yourself closer to her. “You’ll have to say it back eventually.”

She clacks her cane and looks past you, fidgeting but not pushing you away. Miss Venable’s eyes fall to where your fingers are playing over hers, and takes a breath, peeling one hand away from the other just enough it could be classed as an offering. You bite the corner of your lip and take her hand. You might see _Mina_ less these days, but its good to know she's in there still. “You’ll have to finish _that_ before that were to happen,” Wilhemina gestures to the packing as if she hadn’t noticed your hand in hers. But then she gives it a subtle squeeze in return, nodding, understanding your love hasn’t faded, and she prays, never will.

———————-

It’s a week later; you’re batch cooking couscous for her salads when it happens. Miss Venable had driven home for lunch, and you were serving out the warm vegetable and grain mixture into separate bento boxes for her to take with her the rest of the week. So when a loud thumping on the door is heard, she looks at you from the dining table with a questioning expression. No-one ever knocked the door.

She waved you into the bedroom, unwilling to let a stranger see you in nothing but a barely buttoned cotton grey shirt and your collar. Wilhemina stands stiffly, and walks to the front door, turning to check you were away through the bedroom doorway before she answers it.

“Wilhemina Venable?” A low, male voice asks her abruptly.

“Yes?” She doesn’t sound convinced in confirming it. You heart is hammering and you want to peek around the doorframe, you wildly fear it to be one of her attackers who has somehow tracked her down, or another unknown assailant coming for her. Its an insane thought, but your first worry is always for her.

The well-suited man retrieves a black flip down ID and holds it up with a tense, outstretched arm. Miss Venable’s breath catches in her throat, recognising the logo, the name of the employer. _The Co-operative._ “There’s a helicopter on the roof,” He barks in a typically official voice. “We’re here to escort you and your plus-one to the designated Outpost.” He stands to one side and gestures down the hall. “If you’ll come with me please.”

You freeze. She was right. Mutt and Jeff and The Co-operative … _all of it._ They were going to destroy everything, right _now._ You clamp your hand over your mouth to keep quiet, the instant hit of fear and adrenaline overpowering your senses. Everyone was going to die -

Miss Venable stuttered, for once lost for words. She takes a quick breath and tries to keep it together. “Its … its really happening. It’s time.” She states slowly, needing it confirmed before she could really believe it, clacking her cane on the floor like an nervous twitch.

He nodded. “Yes, Miss Venable. Time is of the essence.”

“I just need, we need our things,” She gestures lamely behind her.

He gives her a curt nod. “I’ll be waiting on the roof.”

She sniffs and pulls herself tall, telling herself to remain composed. Calm. This was it. The start of her Supremacy, her Matriarchy, her life with you with no worries or fears ever again. She had to just, push through this part, the ordeal of getting there, journeying away from your _current_ life.

Away from the apartment and Kineros Robotics and the 9-5 commute. She wouldn’t be sending you to the organic grocers for her food shopping, or taking you out for a drink in the evenings, showing you off and letting you have a little anonymous fun under her watchful eye. Nothing, none of it would exist but you and her, and her fiefdom to play in.

Miss Venable nodded. “Okay, thank you,” She replies in crisp notes, running her fingers over her palm, balling her fist with as she thought, making a quick mental list. “We’ll, we’ll be right there.” She half-closed the door, leaving it ajar so he knew you both were on your way. “Sweetheart …?” Wilhemina calls, hurrying toward the bedroom reaching out for you.

As you come around the corner finally, your face paled and scared, you grab her hand hastily and pull her to you, you’re already shaking. “Is he, serious?” You eyes dart wildly, looking to the open doorway, to her, to your hands holding together and she cups your cheek hushing you as best she can, though she is already panicked herself.

“Yes. Yes. Come on, you need to dress,” Wilhemina’s hands slip from you to push you back into the bedroom, and you stumble along looking down realising she's right. _Fuck._ What do you put on? You look to her, then shake your head at yourself - this isn't the time to be wasting time waiting for her direct orders - _just grab something, anything, don't miss your only fucking chance_. You have to get on this helicopter to safety. You fling open the wardrobe and yank the nearest dress you find off the hanger and shed the shirt to pull the dress over your head, tying the little waist ties behind your back, then a grey zip-up hoody and some socks. Miss Venable waves you to hurry you up, keeping checking to the door that he is still there.

“I need my shoes - “ You dart past her for your boots, skidding to the floor as you drop down and pull them on your feet, lacing them up with remarkable dexterity considering your nerves.

“Fetch the bags,” Miss Venable commands you, the urgency showing her nerves are just as rattled as yours, and you blink redirecting your attention running back to her. _Of course, the bags_. You throw open the closet and yank the four heavy bags out one by one, Miss Venable pacing slowly around your bedroom as if, saying goodbye. Taking one last look at everything. “I just, I’ll … “ She mutters incoherently, unexpected tears welling in her eyes. This was it. “Sweetheart, come here, please - “ You pause, hearing her emotions. You turn and stare at her, understanding exactly what she was feeling without either of you saying anything, you just know. You start to walk to her, then rush into her waiting arms and before she has the chance to protest, you take her face in your hands and kiss her hard.

She whimpers into your kiss, looping her arm around your waist and holding you, opening her lips and kissing you for everything she's got. You’re both scared. You’re both unsure. But you’re together.

Finally, Wilhemina breaks the kiss and pants, nodding silently. _You can do this._ You nod in return, then turn away and heft the bags over you shoulders. Looping the straps over your arms, they're heavy, and designed for two per person, so managing all four is a struggle.

“Mina take one of these,” You tell her, lifting each for the lightest one, mostly just clothes and the rest of her medication in this one, not the heavy plastic bottles of toiletries, or shoes, books and blankets. Leaning on her cane she bends down and you help her lift it, draping the strap over her chest distributing the weight as evenly as possible. It’ll be across her back, and you know its not comfortable but she has to do it. You hold your hand out then, grabbing hers tightly as you lead toward the front door. “Do I have time to call my mom? I mean, this is it isn't it…?” You garble anxiously, but you have no idea where your cell phone even is - _Miss Venable kept it most of the time_ , and thoughts of good intentions are lost when you swing the door the rest of the way open - and he's gone. “What the fuck …?” You gape at the empty hall in panic.

She grips your hand tightly, making you look at her. “We just need to take the elevator to the roof, they’ll be waiting sweetheart.”

“Right,” You reply, hoping she's right and they’ve not left without you. _No, that wouldn't happen._ She was going to be the Administrator, she worked for them. They wouldn't just leave.

You hobble slowly down the hall, her steps struggling with the bag on her back, she can’t carry it but you can’t carry four either so you drag her down toward the elevator and press the call button, jabbing it and jabbing it as if that made it come quicker.

You heard the television through the door to a neighbouring apartment, someone turning the volume up louder. “ _Widespread panic is being reported in major cities around the country, since a ballistic missile alert was text to the public. The Pentagon has not yet released a statement nor is there word from the White House_.”

Her _no using your cell-phones in the apartment_ rule clearly meant you missed out on that one.

One of your neighbours you’ve never met opens their door at the opposite end of the hallway, and your eyes widen. _No … no no_ your subconscious warns you. This could get ugly very quickly. You jab the elevator button harder.

“Hey have you seen the news?” He calls, approaching you both slowly. “Wait where are you going?” He goes to the next door down and bangs on their door. “Dude turn on the news - did you get the text?”

Wilhemina looks at you, fear creeping into her eyes. “We need to go,” She murmurs, and as soon as the doors roll sideways open you both clamber in hastily clicking the button for the top floor over and over again.

 _“WBN can now confirm that Hong Kong, London numerous sites in the Baltics and Moscow, have been hit by Nuclear ICBM’s. We have just been notified to evacuate. I’m not going to make it home_ \- “ The words of the news reporter float down the corridor as the elevator doors start to close.

The Elevator cogs turn agonisingly slowly, lifting you the one floor up to the Penthouse - its as high as you can go. You’d never looked before but the elevator didn't even reach to the roof terrace; why would you ever have needed to go up there before now? It was only for service people and satellite TV repair guys. There was a fire-exit door you spot as soon as the doors open again. “This way,” You point, urging her along with you, your back splitting from carrying 3 heavy bags. As you lean on the heavy metal exit-door an alarm trips, a loud metallic noise ringing out but you don't care, its the quickest way.

A bare concrete set of stairs stare back at you, the glaring sunlight falling down the shaft from the sky. You can hear the slow whir of the helicopter blades rotating, or their engine of some sort. You’ve never been near a helicopter in your life let alone ridden in one. Wilhemina feels her mouth dry, the sight of all those stairs. Where did that Co-operative man go? Why wasn’t he helping you for goodness sake?

Miss Venable is forced to let go of your hand to take a hold of the grab rail, taking each step individually, placing her cane up then her foot, but its quickly unmanageable and shaking her head to herself she snatches your sleeve for help.“I can’t … sweetheart - “ Her eyes beg you, and shrugs her shoulders slipping the bag straps from her arms. You try to catch it but it tumbles to the bottom of the stairwell.

“Its fine, I’ll come back for it lets get you up come on - “ You tell her, your whole body shaking from the adrenaline. Its fight or flight - get in this helicopter or die. _Come on Mina_ , you mentally will her on, helping her to the top of the stairs as she holds her arm up to cover her eyes from the blinding brilliance of an all consuming sky, the heavens rolling out in blue ripples all around you in every direction.

The Co-operative representative is there, his suit flapping in the wind. “Come on!” The guy barks, waving you over. He's now fully muscled up - others dressed in black SWAT gear with heavy rifles stand around the helipad platform facing off in all directions like they were trained to do, making a perimeter around the helicopter.

You hug your arm around her body and you both brace against the wind, the effects of being so high up made obvious when you were more unbalanced than most. Reaching the side the helicopter, you’re finally close enough to see inside, other scared civilians already sitting in short fold-down seats wearing full body straps bracing them in. You wonder who they are, if they were to be the Outpost with you, and how they got their golden ticket.

A SWAT guy offers his hand down to Miss Venable, another beside you, and between them they help her up, directing her to a seat, her face pale and petrified as she tries to follow his instructions, bringing the straps over her shoulders and working to buckle herself in. He comes back to the side of the chopper and you pass up the bags one by one, then you’re half wrestled in yourself. “Theres another bag, we dropped it on the stairs - ” You yell over the sound of the rotor-blades starting, the suited man touching his earpiece as he talks, shaking his head.

“We have to go!” He shouts back.

“Please - she’ll just be a minute, cant you give her one minute!” Miss Venable argues, batting the man back with her cane to get his attention.

“Start her up!” The suited man waves his hand in the air, hauling himself in. Miss Venable feels her panic rise, _no come on get on the helicopter, whatever it is you can leave it -_

The SWAT guys are pushing you up practical lifting you they're so strong. They have a mission to carry out. “Hang on!” You scream.

Wilhemina shakes her head at you. “Forget it just get in!” She waves you inside gesturing to the seat next to her. “Sweetheart come on - !”

“But its your meds!” You wrench yourself from the arms of the two men and bolt back across the helipad toward the stairs.

“We have to go.”

Miss Venable fights her X-shaped cross body straps trying to get them undone again. “Wait for her!” She bleats, the suited guy from the Co-operative unhitching the door preparing to slide it closed. “Please!” Miss Venable screams.

He looks at her, then out the open side to you disappearing down the cement stairs, your hair flying madly in the wind. “One minute.“

You race down the stairs your feet skipping faster than you’ve ever moved in your life, the bag is there right there at the bottom you can reach it. You bend down and as you feel the straps in your hand you skid to a halt hefting it up, but something swings and knocks you backward. Your head smacks the stone and pain splits blindingly across the back of your skull, colours flashing in front of your eyes. Feet trample over you and past you, and you shake your head dragging yourself up right to see the door to the hallway had been thrown open - it must have caught you, and there are people running past you.

You stumble drunkenly to your feet, touching your fingers to your nose blood dripping out of it - your knocked for six but you’re not knocked out. _The bag. The chopper. Mina._

Gunshots ring out and voices screams up above you. You snatch the bag and despite your lack of coordination your adrenaline pushes you through, jumping up the stairs two at a time until you reach the top, and a gust of wind from the helicopter blades now running at full speed knocks you right over and you fall over the bag into a heap of limbs.

“Get back!” You hear military barks and you pull yourself up, dragging the bag behind you as you stare blindly ahead. _Come on, come on -_

You hook it over your shoulder - you can see her inside the helicopter covering her ears from the noise, a gaggle of desperate people crowding the side of the chopper, two SWAT guys holding them back, then a third jumps down and fires shots in to the air.

“Wait!” You scream, the bars of the helicopter start to lift off the floor. You break into a run, you run for your life and push through the group but they're in the way they're shoving you and you’re cumbersome with the heavy bag and you reach through try to slip between the bodies. Someone breaks from the group and grabs the helicopter trying to climb in and the group screams as his body shakes and is tossed to the floor, riddled with machine gun fire.

The Co-operative man presses his hand to his comms device and yells down it to the pilot. “Take her up! We’re going to get overrun!” The SWAT guys start to reverse climbing up on to the helicopter.

“Mina!” You scream. _They were going to leave without you._

Miss Venable waves her cane trying to hit him with it but she can’t reach, he can’t hear her through the noise. “She’s there - she’s there let her get through - !” She yells with all she can, but he's hauling the door shut.

She can see you, you can see her.

The chopper lifts higher off the floor. “Mina!” You scream, making it to the front of the group as the sliding door shunts into place, the bar shifted into the locked position. She scrambles from her seat having managed to pull the emergency release cord on her straps and she slides haphazardly across the floor of the chopper as it bows in the sky turning and changing direction, her face pressing against the glass seeing you get smaller and smaller as the helicopter lifts into the sky.

“Nooo!” She screams, the sight of your tearing her apart - her palm banging the glass her heart barely beating. The terrible metal noise of the machine that was meant to saving you both now killing you, leaving you behind, all around filling her ears hands then hands grab her from all sides forcing her back toward her seat and she flails and fights screaming like a wild animal sobbing.

“Get back in your seat!” A voice bellows at her.

Miss Venable points to the window, her body moved against her will as she is positioned into the seat for travel. “She was there! She’s right there go back! GO BACK!” She demands angrily as multiple SWAT guys hold her their and yank the straps over her chest and waist securing her in.

The suited Co-operative man grabs the various hand holds to shift across the moving chopper to take your seat next to her. “We’re on a schedule lady - theres no stopping or going back!”

Her tears are coming uncontrolled. “You’re killing her!” This can’t be happening, it can’t - you were meant to be next to her at her side always _forever._

“And you’d be killing all of us if we turned around!” He grabs her flailing arms in mid air gripping her wrists tightly and making her still but she yanks and wrenches and sobs, each tug getting weaker as her emotions overcome her. “I gotta get this convoy to each drop off location before the blasts reach this far!”

She tastes salty tears, shaking her head refusing to accept it, you weren’t gone, you cant be. “But you’re killing her,” Wilhemina says again, barely audible over the noise, her body slackening her arms hanging limply from his grasp. He places her hands down to her lap, sitting himself up straight and straps himself in as well, already a good few minutes into their flight.

Wilhemina looks at her lap, her shaking hands, empty, where she should have been holding yours. When had she let you go? Her mind retraces your movements together, searching mentally for that moment, the last moment … at the bottom of the stairs. She’d taken her hand from yours to hold the grab rail. Grief washes through her, and she traces your touch on her open palm as if she could summon it back, your hand in hers and she could look up and you would be there beside her, all of this some terrible mirage in her mind.

But when she looks up, you’re not there. Her lips tingle, her nose runs and her mind burns, the wetness in her eyes stings like poison without you, dripping onto her skin it sizzles, the pain settling inside of her knotting and tightening, torturing every breath she takes, that you cannot.

“I can’t do this without you…” She murmurs, closing her hand up slowly, balling her fist.

Your hand would never be there again. 

And it was all their fault.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

_You were gone._

Each step Miss Venable takes through the chambers and doorways of Outpost 3 was another step taking her farther from you. Her emptiness filled her, her life reduced to memories - from the last time she had been in your arms, holding your hand, _kissing you._

Faceless men in SWAT gear dump her bags and the carry-on’s of everyone else in a pile in the centre hallway of the Outpost, a large stone fireplace lighting the room in a sombre glow. One by one people appear from the blast doors, having been sprayed with gas and processed through to the safe sterile depths of Outpost 3.

She looks around, the brushed beige stone and angular walkways giving the place a strange hypnotic aura, but neat, minimalist, like a post-modern art deco with a dark dystopian twist on it.

Accurate, how the shadows and darkness that seemed to dance on the walls from the firelight, were just like the oil-slick demons that crept into her mind and took control of her thoughts, everything descending, falling, crushing her without you there.

Look at these people, so _undeserving._ How could they be here, when you were not? None of their lives meant anything.

“Miss Venable.” A voice summons her from her thoughts, and she steps a slow circle, her cane echoing a whole new tone in the cavernous space. She follows the sound, looking for whoever said her name, as if she is outside of her own body, separate and staring at herself and none of this was real. “Wilhemina Venable.” A short, stout woman with spiked up black hair steps into her line of sight, frowning curiously at her new boss.

Miss Venable clears her throat, touching a hand to her neck, not quite in the room yet. “…Yes?” Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks, trying to focus. Face whatever future this was to be, without you.

“My name is Miriam Mead I’m the Head of your security service. I have a 20 strong team at your disposal, all of whom I have complete and utter faith in to carry out whatever measures you deem necessary. Where do you want us first?” The woman looked up at Miss Venable with a waiting expectant expression.

Miss Venable looked down at herself, her lilac trouser suit and darker purple stilettos, how out of place they were in this subterranean bunker. Around her, clueless agitated Guests huddled together wondering where on earth they were.

These people were meant to be her _responsibility_ , her flock to nurture and challenge, to reintroduce procedure and hierarchy, but they didn't seem capable. They squawked and fidgeted like chickens before the slaughter.

Miss Venable felt the cogs click over her in brain, her head tilting to the side where you should have been standing, to hold her wandering thoughts aground, to steady her through the storm. You had such light in you, one that frightened away all her ghosts, banished them from the darkest corners of her mind.

But when she looked for you, she s met with only empty space. “…Mead, was it?” She started, clacking her cane in a fidgeting manner. She tugged the edge of her blazer, the pale purple dirtied from the helicopter, her hair likely in disarray and she suddenly felt, _exposed._ She didn't want anyone to see her like this.

“Yes Ma’am,” Mead repeated.

Miss Venable gestured to the large black cargo bags. “Escort me and my belongings to our room. Wherever that may be,” She said tightly, watching with hawk-like expression as Ms Mead dragged your bags and hers from the pile with a careless yank, not how you would have done it; you respected her things as extensions of herself, worthy of honouring, to be cared for. Mead hauled them up onto her shoulders like a pack mule with what seemed like extraordinary strength.

“Course. Right this way.” Ms Mead set off at a marching pace, but wasn’t far down the first arched hallway before she realised the Administrator was decidedly slower than her. She paused, checking back every few hundred yards that she hadn’t lost her somewhere past the last turn. “But you don't mind my asking, they didn’t give you this information already?” Mead checked, it seemed peculiar to her that she had been given no resource material at all. They had been thoroughly prepped with all the security measures the Outpost held, blueprints and systems manuals for everything from the water drainage to air ducts.

Miss Venable shook her head, her back aching from the days trauma. Being thrown about the inside of the helicopter, dragged away from you _by men_ , held down as she fought not caring not giving a damn for her back or if it was going to hurt.

She’d tried to carry that bag, then you had tried, she had relied on you thinking you could cover any of her limitations with that all-encompassing caring side you had but she’d dropped it and your first thought had been to get her to safety _get her on the helicopter._ You’d risked your life for her, going back for that bag, and it was a gamble you lost. _Why did you do it?_ She touches her finger to the corner of her eye, moving her glasses to swipe the tears away before they were even born.

“No. I’ve been given nothing,” Miss Venable answers, hardly listening.

“I’ll see if I can sort that out for you.” Mead takes a final right and halts by an open doorway, the only door to the corridor, smiling professionally. “You’ve got the Admin suite, theres two of you gonna be in here right?”

Miss Venable pauses in the doorway, the threshold to her rooms. Part of her didn't want to go in without you. It made your absence seem so, _final_. She can see the main room in front of her, a lounge of sorts, with further doors to the left and right. She tilts her head, half-glancing at Mead, unable to fully make eye contact as she says it. “No. There must have been an error on the list.” Wilhemina touches her cane forward in front of her, willing herself to step inside. She had to carry on, didn’t she? But, why?

She wanted to take in her surroundings, but there are two distracting envelopes on the small coffee table in front of the fire, flanked either side by deep black leather chairs.

One has her name on. One has yours.

Mead follows her in, and drops the bags ungainly to the floor, putting her hands on her hips, watching Miss Venable pick up the envelope with your name on. She could’ve sworn her Guest List had said Wilhemina Venable, _plus one_. Mead pulls her expression to the side, frowning.

Miss Venable tucks it inside her blazer and clears her throat, turning with an impassive expression. She stares at Mead, her eyes dark and absorbent like opaque glass daring her to ask the question that was cloying her throat. Miss Venable could feel her back creaking, the very vertebrae grinding like metal as her posture fixes in place. Repression, _denial,_ was the only tool she had. Her emotional anguish was playing itself over cartilage and muscle, hardening it, manifesting her grief physically, where it could be contained, controlled. Her hands settle atop her cane needing to squeeze the silver birds head so tightly it nearly cuts into her palm, just to keep the shaking from showing through.

Mead doesn’t quite know what to do, so just clears her throat and starts across the room. “Bathroom through there. Bedroom that way,” She points like a tour guide, coming across a cardboard box by the desk and lifts it onto the surface, shuffling the lid straight off without asking.

“Ah, looks like its already been organised. You should have everyones personnel files in here, protocols, contacts.” She slides the lid back on and taps it, then turns to Venable with her hands clutched behind her back. “Is there anything else you need or shall I get the Guests settled?” Her manner is efficient and straightforward. “I think the next lot will be arriving soon.”

Her apparent second in command seems to be on top of things, thoroughly reliable and engaged with whatever has to be done. Miss Venable appreciates small mercies. It at least buys her some time. “No … thank you, Ms Mead.” 

There’s almost a soldier like pause, as Ms Mead pulls her feet together as if to salute, but then doesn’t, leaving the room pulling the door shut behind her.

The silence envelopes Wilhemina, settling on her skin surrounding her like a frost, freezing everything that was once warm, fixing it in time, preserving it in permafrost where it can’t ever die, but can’t be touched either.

Miss Venable lets her gaze drift slowly around the room, imagining you flitting around it excitedly, putting your hands up to the warm fire, how you could have curled up so neatly beside it. Your mat would have fit perfectly there. The visions of herself move with you, heading into the bedroom, seeing you lift each of her dresses from the bags, hanging them in the wardrobe with care - no, this was a french piece, classic. More of an _armoire._

She was going to let you unpack, direct you from the bed; she can see herself pointing and instructing you where she wanted things. Her mirror, her jewellery box there on the chest of drawers. Her hand ghosts the motions of pointing, fluttering over the wooden surface then bringing her hand back, as though - it should be you, not her. Miss Venable leans on her cane, pacing back to the bed, glancing over her shoulder as if the sight of the bare cupboard is too unsettling to look at.

You would finish unpacking and kneel right there … Wilhemina rubs the toe of her shoe on the floor, wanting to wear the varnish down the way your knees eventually would have. As if you were there, that you will be there, _somehow._ You would touch her thigh and smile; Wilhemina had planned a glass of that special whisky, one for each of you, for this very instant.

It was going to be a rare and coveted moment; even from your place on the floor she would have passed you down a glass, toasted your survival, just as you had on the balcony all that time ago, the first time she had told you of The Co-operative, and imagined this very moment.

You hadn’t even taken your collar off, simply dressed and taken your things together and ran. There was no need to slip in and slip out of roles. You had been ready.

Except, you weren’t there.

_You were gone._

Miss Venable fell to the side of the bed, clutching her hand to her chest as she felt her breath stall, tightening, constricting, she gasped and coughed and gagged for breath, doubling over her eyes watering thinking she was having some sort of attack, was there radiation gas down here? Was this what dying felt like? She stumbled through to the lounge, dropping to her knees her cane clattering on the floor as her hands fumbled through blurry vision finding the end pocket of one of the bags, unzipping it and then the next, finally finding a paper bag of some sort and scrunching it and putting it to her mouth.

Puffing in and out of the bag her breathing slowing, she reached for her cane and brought it over her lap, calming herself down. She couldn't get like this.

You were dead and the Co-operative were responsible. They hadn’t waited, if they’d just _waited_. What good were they if they didn't achieve for her the _one thing_ that was meant to be? If she couldn’t enact her plans, strip away the noise and nonsense of all the 21st Century bullshit and show them a respect and civility, an order that humanity craved, then what good was this place?

Miss Venable got herself up; slowly and with difficultly she dragged each bag into the bedroom, unzipping them looking for her clothes. She couldn’t go back out there in this.

No-one knew her, she could emerge this room as whomever she wanted, a new _Miss Venable,_ for the other version of herself would not be missed, when you were not there to witness its loss.

How could she proudly walk around, smile, without you at her side, anticipating her needs, kneeling by her side in the evening, out in the open and accepted, if you were not there? How could she regulate her emotions, relieve her stress, her pain, quell the rushing stream of thoughts and decisions and responsibilities when she could not come home to you?

Wilhemina decided then, that if she was suffering, they would have to, too. She had been put in sole charge of this Outpost, tasked with handling Humanity’s survival but The Co-operative didn't say she had to make them _comfortable_.

Remove the alcohol, take away their clothes, what personal belongings they had, everything that made them who they were, and they would be born anew, the _same_. Surviving, but not living. No-one would be allowed to fuck their problems away. If she couldn’t find release then neither could they.

_She wasn’t fucking going to let anyone else be happy, when her own happiness was impossible to achieve now. You were gone._

Hanging each dress into the armoire, she finally found a combination she wanted. A long jet black blazer, well shouldered with a slight sheen to the lapel, over a cream long sleeved blouse, neat white lace across the chest and high around her neck. The cream was sewn into the high waist of a long ankle length black skirt, a bone bodice beneath it all, held in place by a 5-inch black belt, fixed around the waist and her favourite gothic silver buckle. She had had her purple belt copied and remade for this very purpose. Its width gave her waist some shape, accentuated her feminine outline just enough, while keeping the eye drawn away from the hunch to her back.

Black, was more appropriate now. A mourning dress.

Her fingers struggled to one-handedly do all the buttons and zips, things you would usually have taken care of. She would have to get better at this, re-learn all the personal things you did for her, that she would now need to do for herself once again. Oh, how you enjoyed brushing her hair, playing with it and curving it just how she liked it, her hair was always perfect and she’d indulged your interest because of how it felt simply to be cared for, appreciated… _loved._

Wilhemina turned and fell to the edge of the bed, rocking her cane in her hand, banging it on the floor over and over again as her tears begin to fall, the room silent, and still, and _empty._

It was just so _empty_ without you.

Miss Venable took a deep breath, blinking her eyes until the tears went away, until they dried on her skin and she could see clearly again. She treads over to the mirror and stares at her reflection. Her head tilts, eyes casting over herself, stoic, unemotional.

There was nothing left to break, so now she could be strong.

She split her pony tail, teased the two lengths up and twisted them back in on themselves, holding her hair up off her collar with one hand, checking her profile either side, seeing if her new silhouette was beginning to match the darkness that pressed inside her, aching to get out. 

If she wanted to get revenge, she had to carry on, even if that meant being without you.

She would have to learn how to.

**Author's Note:**

> I know she probably feels really different, but pre-outpost Venable is a different woman to her Outpost self. So much happens between these two parts of the show, there is a change in her and I wanted to explore that transition, and how she becomes her darker self.


End file.
